


I Do It For You

by kylebiased



Category: South Park
Genre: (not between kyle and cartman btw), Aged-Up Character(s), Background Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Background Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger, Bisexuality, Blood and Injury, Bottom Eric Cartman, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Neglect, Coming Out, Emotional Baggage, Fist Fights, Homophobia, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's Intense, Kyman - Freeform, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, So much kissing, Top Kyle Broflovski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 07:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 121,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylebiased/pseuds/kylebiased
Summary: Kyle disappeared over the summer to New York City, with a bright future and college applications on the horizon. Cartman disappeared to God-Knows-Where, with a huge secret and unresolved feelings for a certain someone...Now it’s senior year, and the closer they get, the more obvious it becomes: their futures couldn’t be further apart, and even their own friends and family want them as far away from each other as possible.Too bad love doesn’t really work that way, does it?***UPDATING SOON***





	1. Chapter 1

_“New York?”_

Kyle Broflovski’s 17th birthday started-out on a major high.

The first high point, being, that it had just happened to land on the Saturday before the last week of junior year, so none of his friends were out of town for any family vacations yet, and he’d finished all his AP exams.

The second high point, being, that his parents had given him the most exciting birthday gift, he’d ever received.

“Yeah, dude! Fucking _New York City!_ All Summer long!”

Stan gapped. _“How?”_

“Okay, well, you know how I have all those cousins on the East Coast, right?” he started. “I was telling you about my mom’s second cousin, or uncle, or whatever, who lives in Manhattan?”

“Yeah…I think so.”

Kyle grinned widely. He and his best friend, since preschool, were seated across from each other at Sizzler. Stan had asked him to get dinner, with he, Cartman, and Kenny to celebrate Kyle’s birthday. They had two glasses of soda, and their typical plate of communal fries, and although the others had yet to show, Kyle couldn’t contain himself. Hell, he’d had difficulty doing _anything_ , since getting his 17th birthday present. It was too much excitement for even him to fathom. “Well, it turns out, he’s also a lawyer, and his firm does some kinda pre-law internship program for high school students…”

_“Okay…”_ Stan muttered, through a mouthful of food.

“And he’s a _Columbia Law Alumni_.”

Stan brightened, quickly swallowing his fries. _“Dude!”_

“I know, I know!” Kyle grinned widely. “They’re paying for me to go stay in Manhattan with him, for the entire summer, and if I end up making a good impression, this could fast-track my application!”

“Dude, that’s amazing!”

“I know! _I know!”_ Kyle readjusted his seat, half-wincing, still half-smiling, as the sticky booth fabric clung to his skin. “Columbia has always been my dream school, and it’s nearly impossible to get in, so…this _really_ might help my application stand out, Stan. I could be going to _Columbia_ , next fall. Can you believe it?”

“I still think you could get in without a recommendation,” said Stan. “Isn’t your GPA, like, 4.5?”

“4.2. And I think the average at Columbia is 4.19.”

Stan grinned. “I’m so excited for you, Kyle. That’s fucking insane.”

“I’m _so_ excited. I haven’t stopped shaking since they told me this morning.”

And it was true. He hadn’t.

Gerald Broflovski wasn’t a perfect person by a long stretch, but it didn’t mean Kyle didn’t still look-up to his father. Ever since junior high, he’d had his sights set on becoming a lawyer, and even though Columbia was practically right up there with _Harvard_ , he was determined to make it.

The last three years of high school had been jam-packed with AP courses, debate club, basketball practice, student council, volunteer-work, absolutely everything and _anything_ Kyle could think of, that would jazz-up his application. No one was getting into a school as prestigious as Columbia nowadays, especially without at least 5 extracurriculars under their belt. He was not going to be refused.

Kyle was dedicated.

Spending the summer, interning at a law-office with a Columbia Alumni, even if it meant being away from his friends and immediate family, was exactly what he needed to add the finishing touches to his application.

He was NYC- _bound_.

And now, sitting across from his oldest friend, in that old familiar, sticky, booth at Sizzler, he felt a pang of nostalgia. But more than anything, he was excited for a change.

“When are Cartman and Kenny getting here?” he asked.

Stan eyed his phone. “Uh…we’ll have to go over and meet-up with them later.”

“Why?” he asked, slightly disappointed. “I thought we were getting dinner together for my birthday.”

“Oh, yeah, we are. It’s just, like…at my house.”

Kyle blinked, staring back and forth, between Stan and the food they’d already ordered. “Then why are we at Sizzler?”

Stan hesitated.

Kyle smirked. “You planned a surprise party.”

_“No.”_

“You’re such a moron, Stan, you’ve _always_ been a bad liar.”

“Why would you assume that we’re throwing you a party?”

“Because you hesitated when I asked why we’re at a restaurant, if the food is at your _house_ , you keep checking your phone, probably for the okay to bring me to your place, and because, you really just _suck_ at lying.”

“You’d make a great detective.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, with a laugh. _“Lawyer.”_

Stan slapped a few dollar bills down onto the tabletop, as the two headed to his car.

The third high point was that Stan was still his very best friend.

 

* * *

 

So, maybe the surprise party hadn’t exactly been a _surprise_ , but it was no less amazing.

Stan’s parents were over at the Stotch’s for dinner, so the house was packed with booze and teenagers. Music from someone’s Spotify playlist blared out from the huge Bose speaker that Butters had “borrowed” from his father, while pizza boxes and 2-litre drinks littered the kitchen counters.

The moment Stan and Kyle had arrived, the two made their way to the couch, where Cartman and Kenny were sitting, drinking beer and eating pizza.

“You better be eating that with a paper plate,” Stan warned. “I barely got permission from my mom for this party, if she sees pizza stains on our couch—”

“Relax, Marsh, Jesus _Christ_ , I’ll grab a plate,” Cartman rolled his eyes, then turning to Kenny. “Kenny, go grab me a plastic plate.”

“You’re just fucking lucky I need more beer,” Kenny grumbled, getting off the couch, then playfully slapping Kyle on the back. “Happy birthday, _asshole!_ ”

“Thanks, _dickhead!_ ” Kyle grinned.

“Wanna grab us a few drinks, while you’re at it?” Stan asked, bumping Kenny’s shoulder, then turning back to Kyle. “We got an actual keg. It’s in my backyard.”

“How the _fuck?_ ”

“ _My_ fake ID,” Kenny smirked, raising a brow, before slipping around the corner to the kitchen. “How the _fuck_ else?”

The party was _rocking_.

“Wendy’s been bitching about you all night,” Cartman nodded at Stan, taking a swig from his red solo cup. “She’s looking for you.”

“What?” Stan asked, raising his voice over the constant sound of chatter from the party. After word got out that Kyle had found out about the “surprise” party, it had transformed right back into a typical, raucous, trashy, _high school_ party.

“I’m right fucking here, Eric,” Wendy Testaburger approached Stan from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist, and clutching at his t-shirt, her long dark hair, spilling over his shoulder. “Oh, hey, Kyle. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Wendy.”

They were all used to Wendy and Stan’s PDA by then, although it only seemed to come out on her end after she’d had a drink or two. Even in an off-shoulder sweater and miniskirt, that Kyle had definitely noted seeing Wendy’s _own_ best-friend-since-preschool, Bebe Stevens, wearing before, she managed to carry an air of class and dignity about her. She was probably his only real competition for Valedictorian.

“Mind if I steal my boyfriend for a while?”

“Go for it.”

Kyle noticed Cartman’s huge eye-roll, as the couple slipped away, hands locked, in the direction of the staircase. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what Wendy wanted him for.

“Happy birthday, Jew-boy.”

The lights were low, and colourful strobe-lights danced around the room, and over Cartman’s face. He grinned at the birthday boy, carelessly discarding the crust of his pizza on the edge of the couch.

“Hey, fatass,” Kyle smirked, taking a seat next to Cartman. “Didn’t Stan tell you to get a plate?”

“Since when do I take orders from _Stan?_ ”

“It’s _his_ house.”

_“So?”_

“ _So_ , you should get a fucking plate.”

“You know I won’t, _Kyle_.”

“You’re so fucking difficult.”

“Happy birthday, _Kyle_.”

Kyle leaned back into the couch. He studied Cartman’s face, from where he sat, as the other boy stared back at him, leaning forward towards the coffee-table, but face tilted in his direction. The lights danced across his body.

It was hard to say where they stood with each other.

The two’s relationship had definitely evolved since the fourth grade…as in, no more tormenting each other, less rivalry and less _battling_ , more simple bickering and fighting…they weren’t BFFs, yet, they weren’t enemies, and Kyle knew he felt an unexplainable sense of loyalty towards Cartman, that Cartman returned for him.

He got him. For the most part, he _got_ him.

But, Kyle never did understand the way Cartman studied his body and gave him…that _look_ , sometimes. He’d chalked it all up to his tendency to love teasing and flirting to _piss_ him off, but it didn’t really bother him. At the end of the day, Cartman had transformed into a much more trustworthy and decent person, since the fifth grade, which Kyle chalked-up to his own morality rubbing off onto him. He’d even lost a bit of baby weight. He was still decently overweight, and he would probably always be “fatass” in Kyle’s eyes, but he wasn’t _actually_ obese. Far from.

“Where’s my gift?” Kyle asked.

“My presence is the gift.”

“Hope it came with a gift receipt.”

“Aw, Kyle, baby, don’t be like that.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, pulling down on the sides of his ushanka. He’d never really outgrown the whole “I hate my hair” phase. “You’re such an asshole.”

“I know.” Cartman leaned back into the couch, kicking up his sneakers onto the table. “You should be sucking my dick, and kissing my feet, though, peasant Kyle.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Who do you think paid for the keg?” Cartman scoffed. _“Kenny?”_

“Dude, that’s like…at _least_ , $100.”

“Well, me _and_ Stan, but, you know, I did all the heavy-lifting, so.”

Kyle elbowed him. “Thanks. I owe you.”

Cartman looked away, taking another swig from his cup. “Well, I wasn’t gonna come to your party if I couldn’t get fucked,” He coughed. “... _hammered_.”

Kyle twisted his body in Cartman’s direction, rolling his eyes, with a smirk. _“Sure.”_

“You can get me back for my birthday.”

Cartman’s birthday was within the first week of July. Kyle would be a ways away by then. “Well, _actually_ —”

“Hey. _Assholes_.”

Kenny came back into the room, holding two foamy cups of beer and a plastic plate under his arm. He sat down in between Cartman and Kyle, prompting them both to move over, uncomfortably. “What, did I interrupt something?”

_“No,”_ Cartman glared, taking the plate, and throwing his abandoned pizza crust on top.

“Here,” said Kenny, passing Kyle his red solo cup. “Happy birthday.”

Kyle took a sip, noting that the beer tasted much better than the average cheap liquor that usually frequented the South Park High party scene. “Wow, this is actually decent.”

“Yeah, you can thank Stan and Cartman for that. I’m a little short on cash,” Kenny grimaced. He had an overnight stocking job at the local Target, that had been built back in junior high, so he could start saving for an apartment and pay for himself any time the boys went out, while also attending class during the day, but it often wasn’t enough. “I picked it all up, though.”

“Thanks, guys.” Kyle grinned. “Seriously, I’ve been having the best fucking day, you would not _believe_ what my parents got me for my birthday.”

“A car?” asked Cartman. “I’m tired of riding around in Stan’s mom’s car. We look like a bunch of pussies.”

“You could always get your own fucking car.”

“Shut-up, _Kenny_.”

“No, it’s not a car,” said Kyle. “They’re paying for me to go to New York this summer, so I can do an internship at my mom’s cousin’s law-firm, or whatever. It’s gonna look so good on my application to Columbia.”

_“New York?!”_ Kenny’s eyes widened. “Dude, Kyle, that’s fucking awesome! You’re gonna go to _so_ many fucking parties!”

“Yeah, sure!” Kyle smiled. “I’ve never been so excited in my life!”

“Yeah, Kyle, that’s so cool,” Cartman leaned back again, taking an unenthused sip of beer.

Kyle sensed slight hostility, waving it off. “It’s been my dream, since I was, like, a _kid_ , to become a lawyer. I feel like this could actually help me stand apart from the other applicants.”

“When are you going?” Kenny asked. Music was still blaring in the background.

“I’ll be gone _all_ summer.”

“ _All_ summer?” Cartman tapped his fingers against his red solo cup.

“ _Alllll_ summer.” Kyle enthused. “In fucking _Manhattan_. I’m so lucky.”

“Dude, we’re gonna miss you,” said Kenny.

“I know, I know, but I’ll be back.”

“Make sure to at least have a little fun, when you’re there,” Kenny took a swig. “If you pussy out and study the entire time, I swear to _god_ , Kyle.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“Fucking cheers, man,” Kenny clashed his cup, up against Kyle’s, then rising from his seat. “Let’s go find Marsh. I wanna do a toast.”

Kyle followed, getting up from the couch. “Uh, I’m pretty sure he’s hooking-up with Wendy upstairs.”

“Pffft, Wendy would never fuck Stan at a _party_. _Bebe_ , on the other hand…”

“Cartman, are you coming?” asked Kyle.

Cartman sat, staring down at his drink. He looked up the moment Kyle said his name. “Oh, uh, yeah.”

Kyle could sense some trepidation in his voice. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Cartman scoffed, standing up from the couch, and making his way over to his friends. “You’re gonna be gone, _all_ summer, Kyle?”

“Yup,” he said, as they made their way through the packed house. “I’ll be gone, _all_ summer.”

“Wow! Sounds like the perfect summer to me!”

Kyle elbowed him. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

_“You wish.”_

The two smirked at each other, before Cartman turned his focus back to his red solo cup, tapping his fingers against the plastic.

Kyle wondered what he was thinking, and if the prospect of spending the entire summer away from _Cartman_ , qualified as a high point or not.

 

* * *

 

“Cartman, I’m open, I’m _open!_ Pass me the ball, I’m closer to the net!”

There were only a few days left before Kyle would be driving up to Denver with his parents, and boarding a plane to New York. It seemed a bit like something of a dream to him. The reality of escaping small-town Colorado, for a magical summer in the city that supposedly, _never_ slept, was crazy intriguing, and it got him believing that one day, he really could be filling a spot in a lecture hall at Columbia.

But for now, it was early June, and he was back to playing basketball with his friends. New York was a dream come true, but he’d miss them over the summer, and he wanted to make every moment count.

Cartman ignored Kyle’s advice, taking the shot himself. It bounced off the back of the net, and Stan swooped in, stealing the ball.

“Nice job, _fatass_.”

“Kyle, so _help_ me, I will—”

Stan passed the ball to Kenny, who took a shot, sending the ball right through the net. “ _Wow_. Aren’t you on the _varsity_ basketball team, Kyle? You should be better at this.”

It was true. Kyle was around average male height, but he was fast, and toned, and had been playing for years.

“That’s not fair, you’ve got like, 2 inches on me!”

“Yeah, but _where?_ ”

Kyle scoffed.

Cartman nudged him, passing the ball. “Come on, Kyle, I wanna beat these assholes.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, taking the ball, and making a shot, from far back. It sank through the net, and he cheered. “HA!” He and Cartman high-fived, the two smugly celebrating their victory. “That’s _H-O-R-S!_ ”

“What time is it?” asked Stan.

“It’s almost 7:30,” said Kenny, checking the time on his phone. “We better go. I still have to shower before we leave.”

“ _Whoa, whoa, whoa,_ where are you going?” asked Kyle, crossing his arms.

“We’re double-dating tonight,” Stan panted, wiping his brow. “Wendy and some new friend of hers.”

“But we haven’t _won_ yet,” Cartman whined.

“We’ve _already_ won,” said Kenny. “ _We’re_ getting laid tonight after the movies, and _you_ two assfaces are stuck with each other. See ya.”

“I’ll text you later, Kyle,” Stan tossed him the ball. _“Bye.”_

“See you tomorrow, I guess,” Kyle crinkled his nose. He watched as Stan and Kenny made their way down towards the street, talking animatedly about _something_ …probably girls. He himself had been single for quite awhile. Not that it bothered him, but it _was_ a little funny how often things boiled down to just he and—

“Well,” said Cartman, stealing the ball. “Looks like it’s just you and me, _Kyle_.”

_“Fine,”_ said Kyle, snapping back to reality. “ _One_ more round.”

The two shuffled around the court, nudging and blocking each other’s shots, Kyle obviously being the more successful of the two. Playing basketball since they were children, and being on the varsity team, since freshman year, had definitely paid off. He ran effortlessly, back and forth, from the sidelines to the back, front, taking and making most shots.

“Kyle, _stop_ it,” Cartman breathed heavily, wiping his brow.

“Stop, _what?_ ” asked Kyle, bouncing around on his sneaks, and grabbing the ball. _“Winning?”_

Cartman tried a little too forcefully, to block his shot, and instead, ended-up tripping, and falling back over onto the pavement. “ _FUCK_ , Kyle!”

“Hey, that wasn’t _my_ fault!” Kyle glared but made his way over. “Are you okay?”

_“N-No…”_ he winced. “ _Help_ me.”

Kyle reached his hand downwards, helping him back up, until Cartman sprang up on his own, then running across the court to grab the ball. _“HA!”_

“You _asshole!_ ”

“Aw, Kyle, that was so sweet! You _care_ about me!” Cartman took a shot, and the ball bounced back against the net. _“Shit!”_

“You deserved that,” Kyle swooped in, grabbing the ball and making the shot, without any effort. “That’s _H-O-R-S-E_. I win, fatass.”

“Congrats, Jew-boy, you beat me,” Cartman smirked.

Kyle returned the look, scooping up the ball with his right arm, and checking the time on his phone. “It’s almost sunset. Let’s go.”

“Why? Where do you have to be, Kyle? The _library?_ ”

Kyle bumped his own shoulder into Cartman’s. The two stood fairly close in height. “My mom will get all weird if I’m not home soon.”

“Luckily, I don’t have to deal with that problem,” said Cartman, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, as they made their way towards the street.

“Yeah, well, I do, so let’s go.”

The weather that evening was cool, but a warm breeze drifted softly, through the air. Fluffy pink clouds shielded their eyes from the setting sun, dotted along the horizon, and looking purplish in colour, the higher they floated up, into the sky. It was a perfect night, as the two lazily made their way back home.

Cartman nudged Kyle, playfully. “That was some party last week.”

“Yeah,” Kyle grinned. “Dude, thanks again for the keg.”

“It’s okay. You can repay me for my birthday.”

“July 1st,” Kyle nodded. “Usually my parents take Ike up to Canada for the holiday. Canada Day.”

“Leave it to the Canadians to steal my birthday and turn it into some gaywad holiday,” Cartman sighed, then jokingly batting his eyelashes. “But, _Kyle!_ You remembered my birthday! You really _do_ , care about me!”

Kyle’s cheeks heated-up. It was so _weird_  when Cartman did flirty little things like that. He’d started into childhood, and it happened more often, the older they got. “We’ve known each other nearly our entire lives, of _course,_ I remember your birthday.”

When they reached Cartman’s house, he nudged Kyle again. “You wanna come inside for a minute?”

Kyle hesitated, checking the time. The sun was setting over the distant mountains, and he could hear the sound of the highway, a few miles away. It was that time of the evening, when everything felt a little strange and hazy. “Yeah, sure.”

Stepping into Cartman’s house, the two closed the door behind them, and Kyle instinctually headed for the couch. He noted the amount of boxes, spread across the room, and that things were a little out of place. They didn’t often spend time at Casa Cartman anymore, because Stan’s parents cared little about the violent video games they liked, and Kyle had the better game systems, but it was still strange to see the place in such disarray.

“Moving somewhere?” Kyle casually asked.

Cartman emerged from the kitchen, with two cans of Coke. He tossed one to Kyle. “That’s just some of my mom’s boyfriend’s shit.”

“Oh,” Kyle shifted towards him, as Cartman took the seat next to him on the couch. “I didn’t know your mom had a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, up until yesterday, neither did I.” Kyle took note of how uncomfortable he sounded. Cartman cleared his throat, changing the subject, and sinking back into the couch. It was the same position they’d been in at the party. “ _So_ , Kyle…your family’s gonna be away for my birthday…”

_“Yeah…”_ Kyle raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“So, your house will be empty.” Cartman snapped off the tab on his soda can, taking a huge sip. “You should throw me a party.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “I should have seen this coming, _again_.”

“I paid a lot for that keg, asshole! I _deserve_ it.”

Kyle suddenly felt a pang of guilt in his chest, looking around Cartman’s house. It was…a sorry sight, to say the very least, with dust lining the edge of the television, boxes and his mother’s clothing, scattered across the floor, and the living room only being partially lit, as the other lightbulb appeared to be burnt-out. He already knew that the Cartmans didn’t have very much money, as Liane could never keep a steady, healthy profession and her son didn’t have a job.

Cartman probably had little-to-no money at all.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know…kegs are expensive.”

Cartman looked away. “Who throws a party without a keg?”

Kyle smirked. “Whatever. I still appreciate it.”

“So…” Cartman slid his body downwards, looking up at Kyle, cheeks flushed. “About that _party_ …”

“Even if I _wanted_ to, I couldn’t throw you a party.”

“But Kyle, why _not?_ ” He whined, tugging at Kyle’s arm.

“ _God_ , you’re a skank,” Kyle pulled his arm away. “I’m gonna be in New York, remember?”

Cartman’s eyes widened, and he sat up straight. “Wait, _what?_ ”

“Yeah…” said Kyle, giving him an odd look. “I told you guys this. Several times. I’m gonna be gone all summer.”

“But…it’s my _birthday_.”

“I’m leaving in just a few days!” Kyle put his soda-can, back onto the table. “What did you think when I said I would be gone the _entire_ summer? I mean, it’s just your birthday.”

“I…dunno. I guess I forgot,” Cartman looked away, tapping at his can again, with his fingers. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Are you _upset?_ ”

_“No.”_

Kyle put a firm hand, onto his shoulder. “Cartman, it’s—”

Cartman pulled away from his grasp. “ _God_ , Kyle, it’s not that big of a fucking deal, I’m not _upset_ , okay?”

Kyle glared. “What’s _wrong_ with you?”

_“Nothing,”_ Cartman stood-up, bluntly. “I’m just… _tired_ , today.”

“Cartman, uh…” Kyle hesitated. The sudden change of mood made him feel out of place, and he was unsure how to approach the situation. With Cartman, he often felt as if he were talking to a ticking time bomb. “Um, Is—”

“I think my mom’s getting home soon,” Cartman said, crushing his empty Coke can, and taking Kyle’s. “You should go.”

Kyle rose to his feet. “Yeah, I should be getting home anyway.”

Cartman opened the door for him, and Kyle contemplated saying something, although he had no idea what to say. The mood had shifted so drastically.

“I…” Kyle started, then changed his mind. “Look, dude, I know you’re upset about not having the party at my house, but I’m sure Stan or Kenny can host it. Or you can have it here.”

“Right, yeah, the party,” Cartman swallowed. “It’s just that…uh, you know, your Jew-ass parents have the best speakers, of course, and it would have been cool, that’s all.”

“I dunno. Maybe we can have one when I get back in August.”

Cartman held his breath. _“August.”_

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Cartman, are you…are you _sure_ , you’re okay?”

“ _Juuuuust_ tired,” Cartman sighed. “No big deal.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Kyle.” He closed the door behind him, leaving Kyle in a cloud of confusion.

The sun was still, just barely, shining through the peaks of the mountains, making the sky look orange, and the shadowed streets, navy blue. Kyle casually bounced the basketball underneath the palm of his hand, admiring the dreamy skyline and feeling yet another pang of nostalgia hit him hard in the heart. Maybe it was the serene feeling that living in such a quiet town gave him, maybe it was the sound of the highway settling down, or the reminder that he was going to miss this all summer long, but Kyle felt his stomach twist and turn, making his way back home, and taking his time.

It wasn’t a long walk, but it sure didn’t feel that way.

“Oh, _bubbe!_ ” Sheila greeted him, as Kyle stepped into his house, kicking his shoes aside. “I was shopping in Denver today, and I found you the _loveliest_ set of luggage! I know I was gonna let you use your father’s, but you’re growing up, so I think it’s time that you own your own set.”

Kyle smiled, kicking off his shoes, and leaving his basketball at the door, admiring the expensive-looking set of tagged luggage his mother had gotten for him.

_KYLE BROFLOVSKI_

The tags had obviously been custom-made, with his name engraved, and his grin widened. _This is really happening,_ he thought. _I’m really going to New York._ All _summer long._

And suddenly, as it was before, everything felt just right.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapter every 5 or so days. thanks for the nice feedback on chapter 1!!

“Dude, did you get a fucking _tan?!_ ”

Kyle rolled his eyes and laughed, sliding back into that same, familiar booth at Sizzler. “I do _not_ have a tan.”

“Yes, you totally do,” said Stan, pointing towards him, a few fries spilling out of his hand. “I’ve never seen you _that_ tanned, before.”

Kyle shrugged. “New York is hot in the summer.”

“I didn’t even know gingers could tan,” Kenny joked, taking a few fries from the communal plate.

“You sound like Cartman,” Stan said, leaning his arms against the table.

_Cartman._

It had only been two months, but the name felt weird to hear.

Kyle was finally back from Manhattan. It had been an exhilarating summer, for him. Interning took up about four days of the week, and the other three, he spent with his second cousins (or, maybe they were _third_ cousins…it was complicated), exploring the city. He’d gotten to watch a few court cases, first hand (fun), file paperwork (less fun), and even received a brief tour of Columbia’s campus (the _most_ fun). He’d also gotten to at least second base, with one of his cousins cute girl-friends.

But one-night summer flings, evenings lazing around his sorta-uncle’s Manhattan flat, exploring the city that, he concluded, really did, _never_ sleep, and Columbia on the horizon, surprisingly took a backseat in Kyle’s mind, when he heard the name _“Cartman”_.

“Speaking of…” he broached. “How was Cartman’s party?”

Kyle and Cartman weren’t BFFs. Often, Kyle didn’t even know if he could consider Cartman a _friend_ ; he was just kind of someone he shared this weird, indescribable _bond_ with…and yet, when he touched down at JFK, that night back in June, he felt the urge to text him.

Not that soon, though.

He waited a few days into his arrival, then shooting him a text for his birthday.

Nothing.

He tried once more, and then again, nearing the end of July, but didn’t hear anything back from him. Kyle contemplated texting Stan and Kenny and asking them about it, but they’d _all_ been busy that summer…Stan, working at a children’s day-camp with Wendy and then doing volunteer-work at the local animal shelter, and Kenny with his same overnight shifts at Target, as well as a second, shitty mall-job that he desperately took to make more money, with his time freed-up during the summer. Kyle felt pretty spoiled, getting to spend his entire vacation hanging-out in Manhattan.

Really, none of them had been that communicative. Cartman stayed-out of their group-chat too; Stan and Kenny never that active in it either. Kyle _did_ want to ask about him, but he figured everyone was just _busy_. Plus, he didn’t want it to look like he’d been fretting over _Cartman_.

So he stayed silent.

Stan and Kenny exchanged a weird look. “What party?”

“Oh, uh, before I left for New York, Cartman mentioned he wanted to have a big party at my place, for his birthday,” said Kyle, fidgeting with the straw, in the glass of 7-Up that Stan had ordered for him. It had been waiting there when he arrived. “I figured he’d have it at his own house, or something.”

“Uhhh…” said Kenny. “Dude, we haven’t heard from Cartman all summer.”

_“What?”_

“Yeah,” Stan shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since, like…June.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kyle.

“He just kinda, like…dropped off the face of the Earth,” Stan lazily grabbed a few fries.

“I haven’t seen his mom around, either,” Kenny noted.

“Yeah, but she’s never around, anyway.”

Kyle scoffed. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“I dunno,” said Stan. “I didn’t think you’d care?”

“ _Eric Cartman_ , just, _what_ , mysteriously _disappeared_ for the _entire summer_ , and you didn’t think to _tell_ me?”

“It’s _Cartman_ ,” shrugged Stan. “He’s probably just been playing video games in his living room all summer. Don’t tell me you guys are _still_ fucking _obsessed_ with each other.”

“Me and Cartman are not _“obsessed”_ with each other,” Kyle retorted. “It’s just _weird_ , that you never told me.”

Kenny shrugged, with a giggle. “Sorry, Kyle, we didn’t realize you missed your _girlfriend_ so much.”

“Cartman is _not_ my _girlfriend,_ ” Kyle rolled his eyes, immediately feeling the need to change the subject. “I actually took your _advice_ , _asshole_ , and got some action in New York.”

“No _way!_ ” Kenny grinned, reaching across the table and playfully punching Kyle in the shoulder. “Broflovski, you got _pussy?_ ”

“Don’t sound so surprised!” He hissed but enjoyed the flattery. “Uh…it was more just like, second base, to be honest.”

_“Still!”_

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Dude, we haven’t seen you date, since like…freshman, or sophomore year,” said Stan. “And even _then_ , it wasn’t that serious.”

“Yeah, Nichole and I were never gonna last.” Kyle shrugged. The two had dated briefly in freshman year, while she and Token were on a break, but the couple had gotten back together soon after and were stronger than ever now. “I don’t think anything from elementary school counts, and the thing with Bebe in tenth grade felt… _forced_.”

“So, do you _like_ this girl?” asked Stan. “Are you two still dating?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Kyle shook his head, then re-adjusting his ushanka. “It was just, like…a one-night thing.”

“A _one-night stand?_ Kyle Broflovski, had a _one-night stand?_ ” gaped Kenny, in awe, leaning forward. “Give us the nasty fucking details. I wanna know _exactly_ how this went down.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, laughing again. “Okay, well, this _one_ night—“

The three spent the rest of the evening talking, joking around, and catching up. It felt just like old times and in that moment, Kyle couldn’t believe he’d actually been gone all summer long. It had only been hours since his return, and already, everything seemed to be falling back into place, just naturally.

It was good to be back.

Maybe it was just his eyes playing tricks on him. Maybe it was the touch of jet-lag he was still ridden with, but later that night at the restaurant, Kyle stared outside and could have _sworn_ he’d seen Liane and Eric Cartman’s SUV, slowly passing-by, down the street…Liane at the wheel, and her son sleeping up against the window, in the back of the car, with what looked like a suitcase and a few duffel bags stacked-up, beside him. Like they had been returning from a trip. A _summer-long_ trip.

And only then did Kyle feel a true sense of ease.

 

* * *

 

The first thing that Kyle noticed when he returned to school, was that absolutely nothing had changed.

It was crazy, but being away for two months, and out of school for almost three, had really changed his perspective. He hadn’t expected the high school to feel so familiar, almost instantaneously, but he was back to carpooling with Stan, then roaming the halls with he and Kenny, before making their way to homeroom announcements and first period.

In a weird, backwards sort of way, that was the second thing he noticed: the serious lack of Eric Cartman.

Usually, it was the four of them, chatting at their lockers and then splitting off to go to class. Even if Cartman was the token-asshole of the group, he was part of it nonetheless, and Kyle felt like something was off without him.

So, the third thing he noticed was Eric Cartman’s _return_.

While Cartman had always been on the heavy side, he’d actually grown-up to be decently attractive as a teenager, with big, blue eyes, round cheeks, and thick, straight chestnut hair, that framed his face, in long bangs. Not that Kyle spent a whole lot of time thinking about Cartman’s looks, but he wasn’t _unattractive_.

On return, however, he had noticed a fairly significant drop in Cartman’s weight. He was still overweight, still chubby, but it was noticeable that he had dropped 15 or so lbs, as he made his way down the halls, backpack casually slung over his shoulder, wearing a faded hoodie. Kyle’s eyes couldn’t help but wander in his direction.

Now, _that_ was a change. What had _happened_ in just two months?

“Hey, what the _fuck!_ ”

Kenny’s loud reaction snapped Kyle back to reality.

“Cartman! What the _fuck!_ ”

Cartman turned in their direction, giving his friends a look of shock. He and Kyle locked eyes for a moment, Kyle raising a brow at the other boy, who looked away, and back at Kenny with a smirk.

“Oh, hey, guys.”

“Dude, where _were_ you?” asked Stan. “We didn’t see you all summer.”

“Oh, uh, it was totally gay, dude,” said Cartman, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away, uninterestedly. “My mom made us drive up to Nebraska for the summer.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Kenny laughed.

“I dunno,” he said, still breaking eye contact. “It was just really last minute.”

Kyle contemplated speaking-up and saying something, one half of him just wanting to fill the awkward silence, and the other half, because he hated that Cartman was the one leaving him fretting over unanswered text messages. But he ignored the urge to start anything. “We should get to homeroom.”

“We’ll meet you at lunch, then?” asked Stan.

“What do you mean?”

“Homeroom is still alphabetical, Kyle,” he replied. “Me and Kenny are in section 12C. You know. _Marsh_. _McCormick_.”

Just Kyle’s luck: _Broflovski_ and _Cartman_ always had lockers right by each other and homeroom together. With Cartman’s weird absence all summer, things were going to be a little bit awkward to say the very least.

“Right…” Kyle bit his lip. “Well, we’ll see you at lunch, I guess.”

“‘Later, dude.” Stan and Kenny made their way down the hallway, and Kyle braced himself for a whole lot of weirdness. Cartman didn’t seem to be in a very talkative mood, and Kyle’s unanswered texts were bothering him. It made him feel like he had lost the upper-hand, somehow.

“You’re in 12A?” asked Kyle.

Cartman still refused eye-contact. “Yup.”

“Well…let’s go.”

The two fell into an awkward step, making their way down the hallway opposite to Stan and Kenny’s classroom. It was odd; SPHS wasn’t a large school, but the halls were fairly packed, and yet, the silence between the two was louder than anyone else’s voices, shuffling papers, or the sound of lockers and classroom doors slamming shut.

“So…” said Kyle, hands stuffed uncomfortably into his pockets, as he stared down at his feet. “How was your summer?”

“I was in… _Nebraska,_ ” Cartman snapped. “How do you _think_ it was?”

Kyle narrowed his eyes, wanting to retort in some way…although he was used to Cartman being subtly rude and making playful jabs at him over the past few years, their relationship had developed enough that hostility from him was shocking.

And maybe slightly hurtful.

He stayed silent and they remained that way, ’til the very end of homeroom, when they awkwardly parted.

 

* * *

 

Kyle didn’t think it was fair for every single one of his AP teachers to give them reading, on the very first day of class, but it wasn’t anything that shocked him either. He strived for excellence, and if he had to suffer through a few hours of homework every night, for the next 7 or so years of his life, he would pay his dues.

Slamming his heavy new textbooks against their usual lunch table in that same old, lacklustre cafeteria, Kyle sighed, before releasing a groan and taking his seat.

“Rough morning?” asked Stan, untwisting the cap of his Snapple.

“I already have homework in four of my classes,” Kyle sighed. “We’ve been back for like, four hours, and I already have three hours worth of homework.”

“Buck up dude, you’ve got like, nine more months of this bullshit.”

Stan had never really been the most _uplifting_ friend. “Yeah, thanks for reminding me.”

Kenny and Cartman finally made their way to the lunch table. Cartman had sat next to Kyle at lunch since the fourth grade, but that day, he took the seat next to Stan, instead. Kyle glared in his direction, but Cartman wouldn’t look him in the eyes. More weirdness.

Kenny plunked down his bagged lunch next to Kyle’s tray on the table and made a huge announcement. “Some girl’s tit popped-out of her shirt today in essentials.”

“ _What?_ No way,” said Stan.

“I swear to fucking god, it happened,” Kenny went on, opening up his lunch. “She was wearing one of those strapless bra-top things, I dunno, and when she raised her arm to ask a question, it popped right fucking out.”

Kyle shook his head. _“Kenny.”_

“Don’t be a prude, Kyle.”

“How big?” asked Stan.

“How big was _what?_ ”

Wendy Testaburger hovered over her boyfriend, arms clutching his shoulders.

Stan turned white. “Uh, _nothing_.”

“You shouldn’t be talking about women that way,” she said, taking her seat on the bench, next to Stan. “It’s demeaning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hehe, Stan, you’re so fucking _whipped,_ ” Cartman sneered, picking at his lunch, which appeared to just be a bag of chips.

Wendy rolled her eyes. “Kyle, are you doing debate again this year?”

“Debate _team?_ Or the _class?_ ”

“Team.”

“Assuming I get accepted, then yeah.”

“You will. I’m the team-leader this year, and we need strong debaters,” she said, turning back to Stan. “I still think you should go-out for debate, Stan. Kyle and I will be on the team this year. It’ll be fun.”

“I dunno,” he said. Kyle noticed the way that Stan grabbed onto her hand when he was anxious, almost as an instinct. “I fucked-up so badly back in tenth grade…”

“Oh, so what, you screwed-up at one tournament, back in sophomore year. You’re older now. And it’ll look so good on your university applications. Just _consider_ it.”

“Yeah…” He smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

Although Kyle wasn’t a huge fan of the PDA, he found something sweet about the way that Stan and Wendy wanted to spend almost every moment with each other.

“Ha! _Whipped_.”

God, Cartman was getting on his _nerves_ that day.

“Eric, will you _shut_ the _fuck_ up?” Wendy hissed.

He unintentionally locked eyes with Kyle for a moment, glaring and looking back away.

 _Weird_.

 

* * *

 

The weirdness between him and Cartman shouldn’t have bothered Kyle as much as it did. Their relationship had always been messy. But he still felt the need to feel him out. It wasn’t like Cartman _not_ to reply to text messages from Kyle. Cartman had made a frequent habit of calling Kyle nearly daily, since the fourth grade, whether it was to gossip or he was in the middle of a crisis. And even though Kyle was often tempted _not_ to answer, he never _couldn’t_.

So this entire situation felt very unfair.

At the end of the day, Kyle caught Cartman at his locker. His worn-out hoodie was a little baggy on him now. He’d probably moved down a size, to an XL.

“You didn’t answer our texts,” Kyle felt the trepidation in his own voice, and it freaked him out.

Cartman shoved a textbook into his locker. “What _texts?_ ”

“ _My_ texts,” Kyle narrowed his eyes. “What were you _really_ doing all summer, Cartman? You’re acting weird.”

Cartman sighed, annoyedly. “I was busy, _Kyle_ , Jesus Christ, quit _bitching_ at me.” He slammed a textbook loudly into his locker.

It had been awhile since Cartman had been _that_ rude to Kyle, and he didn’t like it. It was the same weird hostility he’d been treated with that morning, and it pissed Kyle off.

“Busy doing _what?_ Sitting around on your fat _ass_ , all summer?” he snapped.

Cartman’s expression turned dark. “We can’t _all_ go to New York for the entire summer, because our Jew parents paid for—”

“Are you seriously still bitter, because I couldn’t throw you a birthday party? Grow the fuck up, Cartman.”

“My life doesn’t revolve around you, _Kyle,_ ” He slammed his locker shut, jamming the lock up. “Maybe _you_ should _grow the fuck up_.” He swung his bag over his shoulder, shaking his head, and walking the opposite direction.

Kyle gapped. He and Cartman bickered, yes, and as kids, it had often been full-out warfare, but something he’d never received from him? _The cold shoulder._

He didn’t like it as much as he’d thought he once would.

“Hey.”

It was Stan. He and Kenny had approached Kyle’s locker, from behind him.

“Oh…hey, dude.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s nothing,” Kyle lied. “What’s up?”

“We’re getting food,” said Stan. “You coming?”

“Is _Cartman_ coming?” Kyle glared.

“Uh…I don’t think so, I haven’t seen him since lunch,” Kenny gave him an odd look.

“Okay, cool,” Kyle grinned. “Let’s go.”

But he took one last look back at Cartman’s locker and thought, then again, maybe what he’d thought that morning was wrong.

Not _everything_ was absolutely the same.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recap: cartman is giving kyle the cold shoulder and he is not happy abt it, but it's not bc he wants cartman's attention or anything
> 
> there is ACTUAL drama in this chapter!!! yay!! thanks for the positive feedback so far & i hope y'all enjoy. aiming for sunday, with chapter 4

“You should really consider it, dude.”

A week had gone by, and things were starting to fall back into routine. Kyle slightly resented being back in South Park, missing the amazing two months he’d spent back in New York…strolls through Central Park, touring all of the artsy and historical museums, getting to know his distant cousins, and, of course, the feeling he got from experiencing first-hand, the world of law.

Kyle was a big fan of the whole good versus evil, morality versus sin, conceptual bullshit, and law played a huge factor into it. It also didn’t help that he not-so-secretly _thrived_ on conflict and loved being right. Going into law, he’d essentially be paid to do just that: argue, triumph and make money. He did not plan to fail; he did not plan to fail getting accepted into Columbia, and he did not plan to fail passing his bar exam, and he did not plan to fail as an actual lawyer, either.

It was what kept him going. Why he got up early every morning, either to workout or review notes, worked his _ass_ off at school, and then came home every night and hit the books. He was lucky to be from a family that turned in enough money that he didn’t have to get a job, like the rest of his friends. His college fund had been established before he could even talk.

And because of all this, he almost considered Stan’s suggestion.

“Try-out for _football?_ ” Kyle squinted. “I dunno…”

“Think about it, dude,” said Stan. He, Kenny and Kyle were sitting on the floor of Stan’s bedroom, pigging-out. What had supposed to be a study-session, quickly turned into the three of them raiding the pantry, and hanging-out. “Basketball season starts _right_ after football, so it won’t take any time away from that. And it’ll look good on your application. _And_ we can hang-out.”

“I dunno, dude,” Kyle shrugged, doodling on the back of his notebook. “I’ve already got basketball team, voluntary tutoring, and student council.”

“Do you _really_ wanna join the student council?” Stan rolled his eyes. “It’s basically just the fucking school dance committee.”

“Isn’t Wendy running for student council again?”

“Yeah,” said Stan, sheepishly. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“I’m just gonna be busy as is,” Kyle reached past Stan for the box of Oreos. “Once basketball season is here, I won’t have time for _anything_ fun.”

“Ugh,” Stan groaned. “But the only other people I know on the team are Clyde and Token; the rest of those guys are such assholes.”

“That’s really not aiding your case.”

“What about you, Kenny?” Stan pleaded.

“I don’t have the time,” Kenny’s face was illuminated by the screen of his iPhone, as he clacked away at the keyboard.

“But the cheerleaders are _really_ hot.”

Kenny sucked in a deep breath, finally looking up from the screen. “You’re killin’ me, man.”

 _“Fine,”_ Stan moaned, abandoning his bag of chips, in defeat. “I _still_ think you should consider it though, Kyle. Think of your _application_.”

“Ha. Nice try, Stan,” Kyle shook his head. “You know football’s never really been my thing. That was always more for you, and...Cartman.”

Cartman _had_ been invited to their 10PM study session.

He’d just never shown-up.

Irritatingly enough, Cartman actually _did_ reply in their group-chat this time. Just not to Kyle. Stan had sent out the text, prompting the others to come over and study. Kenny’d OK’d it. Kyle said ‘yes’. All they received from Cartman was, a one-worded _nothing_ :

 

**Cartman**

**_9:46 PM_ **

_cant_

 

 _Oh, so he can find the time to text Stan, “cant”, but he “cant” find the time to respond to even_ one _of my texts over the summer,_ Kyle had thought, on the walk over. _Unbelievable._ He _hated_ the way Cartman’s stupid little grammatically-incorrect text was sending him over the edge.

It wasn’t like Kyle was getting fixated on this. Nah. He didn’t care, one _bit_ . But he _hated_ that Cartman’s inconsiderate attitude was making a comeback. It didn’t mean that he particularly enjoyed Cartman’s company, but it was inconsistent and pissed him off. Cartman did have the ironic tendency to be predictably _unpredictable_ , but for him to entirely change personality like this? Out of character. Especially in the way that he was behaving.

It wasn’t just the first day back, that he was cold. He’d been cold to Kyle the entire week. He was still normal and as civil to the others, as one, Eric Cartman, could be, but he was giving Kyle _nothing_ . He didn’t try to grab his pen in homeroom. He didn’t bum off of Kyle’s food at lunch. He didn’t tease Kyle, or pull on the flaps of his hat, when they played basketball and touch-football with Stan and Kenny, at the park in the evening. He didn’t want anything to _do_ with him. Cartman and Kyle bickered and argued, yeah, and Cartman _loved_ playing, and teasing with him. But he never treated him with absolute disinterest and coldness.

Something was off.

And Kyle didn’t like it.

“Oh yeah, Cartman _did_ play football,” Stan reminisced. “Back in junior high, we were on the team together.”

“He stopped?” asked Kenny, tearing open a pack of Twizzlers with his teeth.

“Yeah, he quit a few games in. I think he only made the team, ‘cause of his weight.”

Kyle pressed his pen harder into the back of his notebook.

“Where _is_ Cartman?” Kenny pondered.

“He said he couldn’t come over,” Stan grabbed a few liquorice sticks. “He’s probably just watching TV or eating or something.”

Kyle tugged on the sides of his hat.

“Did you hear that crazy shit about his mom?” asked Kenny.

“No, what—”

“Is it just me, or has Cartman been acting weird lately?”

Stan and Kenny blinked in Kyle’s direction.

“Uh,” Stan hesitated. “Not really. He seems like the same person to me.”

“Why? What is it?” Kenny snickered. “Lovers’ tiff?”

Kyle rolled his eyes. _“Fuck off.”_

“Then what do you mean?”

“I dunno,” said Kyle, turning focus back onto his notebook doodles. “He’s just been super cold and dismissive to me lately. It’s weird.”

“Dude, why are you even _questioning_ it?” asked Stan, uncrossing his legs. “I thought this would be, like, everything you’ve ever dreamed-of and more.”

“Believe it or _not_ , _Stan_ , I have higher aspirations to attend to, than losing Eric Cartman’s attention,” Kyle snapped.

Stan raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.”

“He was trapped in fucking Nebraska all summer,” Kenny commented, with a shrug. “He’s just feeling... _off_.”

“I guess so,” Kyle mumbled.

“Don’t worry,” Kenny rubbed his shoulder, in fake consolation. “You guys’ll be back to bickering, and _flirting_ , and annoying _everyone_ _else_ around you, in just a little while.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Kyle glared.

“Look at it this way, Kyle,” said Stan. “Maybe, Cartman has finally matured, and all the bickering is over. Maybe you’ll never have to deal with him _again_.”

He tugged on the sides of his ushanka again. “He isn’t _that_ bad, anymore.”

Stan and Kenny exchanged a look.

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Kenny shrugged. “Cartman’s kinda been cool, since middle school. He’s definitely way less of a fucking asshole.”

“Can I be honest, here?” asked Stan. “Kyle...I think _you’re_ the one acting weird about this.”

_“What?!”_

“Well?” Stan scoffed. “It’s _Cartman_ , we’re talking about, here. Do you _really_ care that much if he’s finally ignoring you?”

Kyle rolled his eyes. They didn’t get it. They seemed to think Kyle’s place of concern came from a perspective that _missed_ Cartman’s constant antics, when in fact, he was just sitting on a whole lot of suspicion. It wasn’t that Kyle _wanted_ Cartman’s attention, he just resented the fact that Eric Cartman had the upper-hand over him and refused to let him earn it back.

“It’s not like that,” he explained again. “I don’t trust him. The way he’s acting right now, is totally unfair and suspicious. He’s gotta be hiding something, or planning something and I don’t like it.”

Kenny snickered and Stan let out a huge sigh.

“Well, let us know once you figure it all out, Kyle.”

“Yeah, I will,” he snapped.

They just didn’t get it.

 

* * *

 

Kyle tutored freshmen and sophomores after class, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The busiest nights for him, as of recently, were Thursdays, when he had tutoring for two hours, at 4PM, and then an hour of debate club, right afterwards. He’d unsurprisingly made the cut.

Tutoring was same old, same old, but debate team this year was going to be fun. He and Wendy weren’t particularly close, but she had a good head on her shoulders, and she’d actually managed to convince Stan to join the team. It was only their first meet, but already the three of them had a good rapport, and it was actually really fun having his best friend on one of the same clubs as him, for once.

After dismissal, Kyle made his way into the parking lot, with the couple. He’d taken his mom’s car to school that day, because she knew he’d be at school until later in the evening, and wanted him to have a reliable way of getting home.

Not that small town Colorado was particularly dangerous, but he wasn’t going to refuse an opportunity to use the car.

 

**Mom**

**7:43 PM**

_Kyle, could you please stop by the grocery store and pick-up a few things for me?_

 

_There’s cash in the glove compartment._

 

Ah, Sheila wanted him to go grocery shopping. The car always came with a catch.

 

**7:44 PM**

_Sure. What do we need?_

 

_“Kyle!”_

He turned around, watching as Stan approached, with Wendy locked around his arm.

“We’re going to PF Chang’s,” he said. “You wanna come?”

He groaned. “You’d better go on ahead without me,” Kyle said. “I have to go run a few errands for my mom.”

“Oh, shit,” Stan shrugged. “Well, maybe next time, dude.”

“Hey, Stan, wait,” Kyle waved him down again. “When do you find out about football?” The try-outs had been the previous day, and he knew that Stan had been stressing out about making the cut.

“They’re posting the list tomorrow,” Stan’s voice came-out with an anxious shiver. “If I don’t make it, I’m gonna be so fucked for college. Sports are my one shot at a scholarship. Or even getting into university at all.”

“I think you can make it based on grades, Stan,” Wendy rubbed her hands together. It was beginning to cool down at night, around this time of the year. “You just need to buckle down.”

Kyle knew what she meant. Stan was a skilled football player, but he was lean, and far from bulky. He usually made the squad, for his sharp reflexes, running and passing, but for a football scholarship, he’d need the muscle mass too.

“You’re gonna be fine, dude,” Kyle grinned, unlocking the door to Sheila’s car. It was a remote start. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Kyle jammed the key into the ignition, starting up the car, and soon pulling out of the parking lot. His mother’s “list of demands”, was fairly short. Just some flu medication for a bad cough Ike had, and a few basic groceries...cereal, bread, fruit, milk. Nothing too exciting.

The more local grocery store had lessened in popularity over the years, as Target and Walmart had become the prime source of food, clothing and basically _everything_ for the people of South Park. Kyle tried not to shop at either if he could afford not to do such a thing, and tonight was no exception.

It was only because of the time of night, and smaller shopper count, that he noticed it:

Liane Cartman’s, beaten-up old SUV, parked a few cars down, at the grocery store. He got weirdly nostalgic, as it came into view, remembering back to a time when it had that brand-new car smell, and he and the others would play in it.

 _I guess Liane is back in town,_ he thought to himself. Over the past few years, as Cartman got older, Kyle had noticed that Liane was around lesser and lesser. He wondered if she had gotten a stable job or something...maybe secretly _hoped_ she did, for Cartman’s sake, but he suspected that it wasn’t true. His face always darkened whenever his mother became the topic of conversation.

Kyle got out of the car, clicking open the lid of the trunk, and dug around inside for his mother’s recyclable shopping bags. Shoving a few into one, he then slammed the trunk shut, locking it with the remote-start.

Grocery shopping on a Thursday night. Senior year had really started off with a bang.

Kyle stepped into the market, slipping a dollar into the coin slot for a cart. He sighed, eyes trailing down his to-do list. Searching for Ike’s favourite cough syrup brand was going to be a _blast_.

_“But you said you’d be home!”_

He’d recognize that voice _anywhere_. Eric _fucking_ Cartman. So it hadn't be  _Liane_ driving the SUV, it was her _son_.

Kyle peeked around the corner, into the next aisle, where he saw Cartman on the phone. He was visually shaken, or at least upset, by _something_ , slowly pushing around a cart. It was practically empty, besides a few bags of ramen noodles, cheap looking TV dinners and discounted frozen food. Aside from his mother’s occasional rich Ashkenazi cooking, his family ate pretty healthily. The components of Cartman’s cart made Kyle wince.

“That’s not fair! You told me, you were coming _home!_ ”

Kyle felt like he was intruding.

“I don’t give a _fuck_ what Bill said, _I’m_ your son, and—”

...but then again, Cartman _had_ done similar things to him, more than once, so he couldn’t feel _too_ bad about listening.

“You _really_ think you’re doing me a _favour?_ I’ve been away, for— _really?_ I couldn’t _tell_ , Mom. I couldn’t fucking  _tell_.”

Kyle made the mistake of listening too intently. Cartman looked-up and they locked eyes. He shot Kyle a glare.

 _“Thanks for nothing.”_ Cartman ended the call, slamming his phone back into his own cart, and Kyle winced at the loud sound it made. “What the fuck are you doing, _Kyle?_ Stalking me, now are we?”

“Yeah, in your fucking dreams,” Kyle snapped, rolling his cart in closer. “Guess your phone works, huh?”

Cartman rolled his eyes. “What, are you still mad I didn’t text you back, over the summer? God, go get some pussy already.”

Kyle seethed. “ _I did._ Go take your own advice.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Cartman looked away, uncomfortably. “Just fuck off, already.”

Kyle pushed his cart, right in front of the other boy’s, blocking him off in the aisle. The cereal section of a lonely grocery store, around 8PM, seemed like a bit of a bizarre place for a confrontation, but then again, what had ever been _normal_ about he and Cartman’s relationship in the first place?

“What’s your fucking deal, lately?” Kyle narrowed his eyes. “You disappear all summer, come back, and suddenly you’re back to being a complete dickhead?”

“I could say the same thing about _you_ , Jew-boy.”

Kyle sneered. “What the fuck is _that_ , supposed to mean?”

Cartman cleared his throat, going into an over-the-top impersonation. _“I’m Kyle! I spent my summer in Manhattan! I’m gonna be a lawyer, because I have a rich Jew daddy! I’m so dre—”_

“You don’t think I had to work for what I’ve _earned?_ ” Kyle fumed. “You wanna do impersonations? How about—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, _“I’m Cartman, and I’m a fatass, and I have no dad and my mom’s a crackwhore!”._ I’ve heard it.” He pushed his cart into Kyle’s, shoving his way past him, down the aisle.

Kyle stayed in his place, surrounded on both sides by boxes of sugary cereal, with his jaw practically scraping the floor.

Never had he ever seen Eric Cartman sound _that_ self-aware.

He shook it off. Cartman was Cartman. It didn’t matter if he’d become more pleasant over the past six or so years. He would always carry the asshole gene with him. But as Kyle finished-up shopping and made his way to the check-out, another commotion was practically inevitable.

 _“No, no, no, I_ have _to have enough.”_

_“We still need about…$7.40.”_

_“I don’t_ have _another $7.40. Otherwise, I’d_ pay _it.”_

Kyle sighed, peeking around to get a glimpse of the till. Of _course_ it was _Cartman_ , who was holding-up the line. He was so tempted to just walk-over and pay the damn $7.40 for what would later contribute to Cartman’s severe cholesterol problems, but he’d left his wallet in the trunk, and just barely had enough to cover what was on his mother’s shopping list.

“Sir, if you would just put back a few items—”

“I only _have_ a few items!”

_“Sir.”_

He sighed, and Kyle watched as he shoved the frozen food aside, opting for the cheapest items of the cart. It kind of made Kyle feel like a dick, staring downwards at his cart full of fresh produce, and premium packaged meat, but Cartman had been such an unnecessary asshole to him for almost the past two weeks, so his remorse remained below surface level. When he finally advanced in line, Kyle paid for his groceries, stacked them neatly in Sheila’s recyclable bags and headed outside.

The air was cool and fresh, with the parking lot only illuminated by streetlights. There were dark clouds forming overhead, and Kyle wondered if he should have been anticipating any rain. It was shaping-up to be a pretty odd evening.

He really, really _wanted_ to ignore Cartman. Yup, he wanted to walk right past Liane Cartman’s car, and ignore the fact that her son was leaning with his face pressed down, against the steering wheel, arms wrapped around his face, but he couldn’t. Kyle rolled his eyes, and cursed himself for the thousandth time within that two week period, for letting Eric Cartman linger on his mind and alter his typical thought pattern...but something about catching a glimpse of what looked like his childhood nemesis, experience some form of true _hopelessness_ , evoked something else within him.

As long as he was being _honest_ with himself, it always had. He _hated_ that it did.

He knocked on Cartman’s window. The other boy’s head shot up. His face looked red, but Kyle couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment, or he’d actually been _crying_ on the wheel. Cartman glared, rolling down the window.

 _“What?”_ he blurted, wiping his nose, with the sleeve of his baggy sweatshirt.

Kyle glared right back, throwing in an eye-roll, for added effect. _“Here,”_  he reached into his cart, picking-up and holding-out a bag of fresh produce.

Cartman stared back in awe, blinking back and forth between Kyle and the bag in his hands. But, his look quickly switched from incredulous to angry, a moment later. “I don’t need your fucking _pity_.”

Kyle scoffed. “You bought 10 bags of 20 cent ramen, and like, five TV dinners, and I just caught you _crying_ , in your mom’s car. How much more _pitiful_ , can that ge—”

“—I wasn’t crying.”

“Yes, you were, your eyes are all puffy and your cheeks are red.”

Cartman rolled his eyes. “What are you, a _detective?_ Leave me alone, asshole.”

Kyle was practically boiling. “Look, _fatass_ , I’m trying to do you a huge favour, so—”

“No, you’re not, _Kyle_ , you just wanna give me your groceries, so you can rub it in everyone’s face and feel good about yourself.”

Kyle blinked, feeling caught off-guard. _No one_ called him out. Maybe Stan, once or twice, but it felt unnatural, coming from _Cartman_. “Wow.”

Cartman turned away from him, eyes focused on the wheel.

“You think you have me all figured-out, huh?” asked Kyle, shoving the bag through Cartman’s window. “You’re welcome, _asshole_.”

He stormed off before Cartman could get in another word edgewise, and pulled out of the parking lot, only looking back once, to see that the beaten-up SUV hadn’t moved an inch.

Boy, did Cartman get on his last _nerve_.

But later that night, after being thoroughly questioned by his mother about her missing bag of fruit, Kyle sat up in bed, studying as per usual, when he received a text.

 

**Cartman**

**11:38 PM**

_thanks._

 

What an asshole.

 

* * *

 

So, not a huge shocker, but Stan made the varsity football team. He’d made varsity since freshman year, so it didn’t seem like that big of a deal to Kyle, but he was proud of his friend nonetheless.

“There’s gonna be a party tonight,” said Stan, earlier that day. He, Kyle, Kenny and Cartman were seated at their lunch table.

Cartman refused eye contact with Kyle and Kyle did the same right back to him. Neither acknowledged their awkward run-in at the grocery store and neither wanted to either.

“Sweet,” said Kenny, finishing off a can of iced tea, and slamming it back down onto the table. “I’ll get my fake ID.”

“No, no, don’t worry about that,” Stan insisted. “It’s at Clyde’s, tonight. He and Token are taking care of the booze.”

“Great, ‘cause I’m kinda running low on the Target money.”

“What time do we show up?” asked Kyle. Truthfully, he didn’t have any other plans that evening, but he wasn’t really in a party mood. He’d been studying way past midnight, the last few days and it was taking a toll on his sleep cycle.

“Come for 9 or 10.”

“ _Definitely_ 10,” Kenny pitched in. “9 is too early. Makes you look like a pussy.”

“Got it,” Kyle drummed his fingers against the table. “10 it is.”

“Can you drive us there?” Kenny asked Cartman. “You have your mom’s SUV, right?”

“I’ll pick you up at 10.”

Kyle noticed that Cartman had packed an actual apple in his lunch and wondered if it was one of his, but didn’t want to ask.

“Kyle, do you wanna get a ride with me, Wendy, and Bebe?”

He turned his focus back over to Stan. “Oh. Yeah, sure.”

“Sweet,” Stan smiled. “Be ready for 10.”

 

* * *

 

Kyle wasn’t much of a self-groomer. He’d basically given up on his hair a long time ago, and stuck to the same look he’d had since he was a child: his dark red curls, _mostly_  concealed by an ushanka. They spilled out from underneath, getting into his eyes, and framing his face, but as long as he didn't have to tame his hair as a whole, he could deal with that. Of course, he’d outgrown the hat he’d worn as a kid, and replaced it with a more sensible, army green ushanka, but it remained his “look”...if it could even be classified as one. At least he’d moved past the phase of lame graphic t-shirts, and dressed fairly nicely. He’d slipped on a pair of black jeans and a clean navy blue sweatshirt, for the party.

Arriving, just after 10 PM (the “cool” time to show up, in accordance to Kenny), Kyle soon felt a little overdressed. The crowd was _loud_ football players, and their cheerleader girlfriends. It was weird that Stan was one of “those” guys, being a varsity football star, with his head cheerleader girlfriend, Wendy Testaburger, but Kyle still never viewed him as anything but his “super best friend” — even if they weren’t really part of the same school crowd, and they drifted a bit as school went on, Stan was the one he hung-out with daily, ate lunch with, played video games with...it was just like that.

Music blared, and the place was fairly packed. South Park High had a pretty small population, but still, it looked like nearly every senior and junior had shown-up.

“Why didn’t you help Clyde set-up?” Kyle asked Bebe. They’d walked into the party together, along with Stan and Wendy, who had disappeared into the crowd, not a moment after their arrival. Bebe had been dating Clyde for over a year, by then, so it seemed weird that she would have come with them, instead.

“Football hazing traditions,” said Bebe. “They make the new members do all the team’s dirty work for the first few weeks. Party-prep was on the list, I guess.”

“Oh,” Kyle reached for a beer, from the table set up near the entrance of Clyde’s house. “Makes sense.” He hoped he didn’t sound too uncomfortable around Bebe, but she’d had a massive crush on him back in sophomore year, even _after_ their very brief "relationship", and he didn’t want it to be awkward.

Kyle soon lost Bebe to the crowd, and started making his way through hordes of people, looking for _someone_ he knew better than “Brad from Pre-Cal” or “Sarah from Philosophy”. Luckily, he spotted Kenny, not 10ft. away, with a beer bottle in his hand, standing next to Cartman.

 _“Broflovski!”_ he shouted, when Kyle had reached his side. “How’s it goin’, man? Take a few shots.” He already sounded a little bit wasted, reaching downwards for two filled shot-glasses, from the table. The glasses were ornate with SPHS colours, and set-up in rows, loaded with cheap liquor.

“Is he already _drunk?_ ” Kyle asked, hesitantly downing one shot, after the next.

“I think so,” drawled Craig. He had one hand clutching a beer can, and the other wrapped around Tweek’s waist. Kyle wondered how they’d managed to stay together since freaking _elementary school_ , although he guessed there wasn’t much of a gay scene in South Park, Colorado. Still, it amazed him. Even Stan and Wendy had broken-up long-term, a few times. “He was already like this when we showed-up, 10 minutes ago.”

“Kenny, you practically berated me about the perfect time to show-up being 10PM, and then you show-up early, _drunk?_ ” Kyle sighed.

“Cartman’s fault. He picked me up too early.”

Kyle narrowed his eyes. “Did you _get_ him drunk, too?”

Cartman, who’d been obviously ignoring Kyle for the past little while, finally looked up from his canned beer. He was wearing another faded hoodie, this one maroon. He had on a knit-hat too, which seemed a little early into the season, but Kyle figured he couldn’t judge, since he wore his ushanka, year-round.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Cartman asked.

“Oh, I dunno, that you’re an irresponsible _asshole?_ ”

Cartman rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He shrugged, walking off from the group.

Craig gave Kyle a dull look. “That was weird.”

 _“See?”_ Kyle raised an eyebrow, towards Kenny. “He _is_ acting weird.”

“It’s Cartman. What’s the big fuckin’ _deal?_ ” asked Kenny, slightly slurring his words together.

“The _big fuckin’ deal_ , is that…” Kyle was at a loss for words. He hated their unimpressed stares at him, boring into his face. Nah, he wasn’t going to sit around anymore and complain about Cartman’s bizarre behaviour. He downed a third, large, shot, sighing loudly afterwards. “Whatever.”

Maybe it was the cheap liquor he’d just knocked back, but Kyle was suddenly in the mood for a confrontation.

He pushed through the crowd, searching for Cartman. He came to the back of the kitchen, where a bunch of girls were standing around the kitchen counter, gossiping and drinking wine coolers. He soon realized, that Cartman had been drinking one of those, and not a beer. He did tend to like more “girly” things like that, at least in the past.

“Hey, have you guys seen Cartman?”

“Who?” asked one of them. She tapped the end of her cigarette, the ashes tumbling onto the kitchen counter.

“Cartman. Eric Cartman,” Kyle repeated himself. “I think he would’ve gotten a wine cooler from you.”

 _“Oh!’_ her friend blinked. “Thick brown hair? Chubby? Dark red hoodie?”

“No, it was maroon.”

“Fuck _off_.”

“Yeah, that’s the guy,” said Kyle.

“Thattaway,” cigarette-girl pointed to the backyard. “And it was _maroon_.”

Kyle slammed the door open and shut, making his way onto the patio, and down the steps into the yard. Crickets chirped outside, and the late-summer night air smelled fresh and rainy. It was oddly warm, that night. When Kyle’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he spotted Cartman, sitting on the grass with his wine cooler, next to him. The distinct smell of cigarette smoke stung Kyle’s nose again, and he realized that this time, it was coming from Cartman.

“Are you _smoking?!_ ” he glared.

Cartman turned around, face changing from alarm to anger, the moment he registered Kyle’s face. “What _are_ you? My fucking _mom?_ ” Still, Cartman took his barely-smoked cigarette, and crushed it out into the grass.

“We need to talk.”

“Oh, _boy_ ,” Cartman rolled his eyes. “What _now_ , Jew-boy?”

“What is going _on_ with you?” asked Kyle, standing over the other boy. “I don’t get it, Cartman. I really, just don’t get it. You disappear all summer, ignore all of your friends, and now suddenly, you’re being a total, humongous _dick_ to me. What happened?”

Cartman sighed, irritably, and go to his feet. He took a final, long sip of his wine cooler, before crushing it in his hand, and dropping the can on the ground. “ _Really_ , Kyle? Why are you so _shocked?_ I’ve always been a fucking asshole.” He tried pushing past Kyle, who instinctually picked-up his litter after him, chasing him down right afterwards.

“Actually, Cartman, if I’m being honest, these past few years, you’ve been somewhat... _tolerable_ ,” Kyle hesitated, following him. “In fact, we were getting along so _well_ , right up until I left for New York. You even wanted me to throw you a fucking _party_. And now I’m getting the silent treatment?!”

Cartman kept his head turned away, stepping back up the patio. “Leave me alone, _Kyle_ ,” he hissed.

“Come back here,” Kyle seethed, grabbing the back of his hoodie and pulling him down the stairs. “You’re acting super suspicious and I’m not putting up with it.”

Cartman stumbled back down the stairs, coming face-to-face with Kyle. “I thought you hated me,” he snapped. “I’m doing you a fucking _favour_.”

“That’s not what this is about, _fatass_ ,” Kyle retaliated, finger waving angrily in Cartman’s face. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but it’s not working with me. I’m onto you.”

“I’m not doing anything to anyone. I just don’t wanna talk to you,” Cartman bumped past Kyle, heading back out into the yard. “Just fuck off already, Kyle, god you’re such an _asshole_.”

“So, this is just the person you’re back to being?” Kyle glared. “I don’t see you all summer, return, and you’re back to being the same, sick, twisted, _fuck_ you were, all the way back in the fourth grade? I _buy_ you—”

“I am _not_ the same person I was in fourth grade,” Cartman’s expression turned dark, and he started making his way back over to Kyle, ascending a few steps. “You fucking take that back, Kyle, you _know_ I’ve been in therapy for years, and—”

“You think that changes anything?” Kyle sneered, as the two came in closer. “You know, I thought that _somehow_ , you’d changed, but you go away for two months, and you’re back to being a sick, nasty, _spoiled_ fuck.”

It was very hard to read Cartman in that moment. Partially, because it was so damn dark outside, and they were both getting pretty drunk, but mostly because, to Kyle, he looked more _hurt_ , than angry. It was very un-Cartman-like. “I am _not_ that fucking person anymore.”

“Every time it seems like you might actually be a decent person, with _actual_ feelings...you turn around and disappoint everyone.”

The words struck Cartman to his very core, and Kyle tried to pretend he didn’t realize it. Whatever. It’s not like _Eric Cartman_ felt anything for anyone but himself, anyway. At least that was what Kyle told himself. He felt guilty the moment he saw Cartman’s expression flicker into what looked like utter sadness, but then his face twisted into a glare. Cartman uttered one last thing, before cooly turning his face, and descending down the patio staircase.

“Next time you go to New York, do me a huge fucking favour, and _never come back_.”

It wasn’t really a hard-hitting response to _anything_ Kyle had hurtled at Cartman, but it was the cold disregard and legitimate tone of disinterest that he’d delivered it with, that truly sent Kyle over the _edge_. He quickly, and furiously, stepped back down the stairs, grabbing the back of Cartman’s hoodie, and accidentally, sending the two tumbling downwards.

“HEY, what the _fuck?!_ ” Cartman shouted, tripping over his own feet.

Kyle landed on top of him, unfazed by the fall. His fingers still angrily grabbed at fabric, in an attempt to bring Cartman’s face closer to his. “What the _fuck_ is your problem?!”

 _“Nothing,”_ Cartman desperately tried to shield his face with his hands. _“NOTHING!”_

“You come back this summer, acting like a huge _bitch_ , and I _still_ try to help you out, and give you my groceries, and I—”

 _“KYLE!”_ Cartman shouted. _“STOP!”_

_“And—”_

_“Stop,”_ Cartman looked away. “I don’t wanna fight with you anymore. Just leave me alone.”

The silence was deafening. Kyle remained positioned with Cartman’s hoodie bunched up in his hand, and his legs pinning the other boy down, but he let go, the minute the words had finished spilling out of his mouth.

Cartman was indifferent. He sounded defeated. There was nothing there, anymore. Kyle wondered, if in the moment, if he was feeling let down, because he may have gained some form of pleasure from fighting with Cartman, the bickering, their complex “friendship”, but he tended to think too much. To fixate on things like that, for a really long time...so, he let go, and pulled himself off of Cartman, suddenly feeling really _embarrassed_ for half-drunkenly confronting him, and making a huge ass of himself for it. Not because Cartman didn’t deserve to be taken down a peg or two, but because he’d made it weirdly obvious he was unsatisfied with the lack of attention Cartman usually rained down on him.

He’d lost the upper-hand again.

Cartman got up from the ground, brushing himself off, with a quiet sigh. He picked his hat up from off of the ground, then pulling the hood of his drawstring hoodie, over his head. “Tell Kenny to get a ride home with Stan.” Cartman stuck his hands in his pocket and started making his way over to the gate of the Donovans’ yard. The gate clicked open and close, leaving Kyle all alone, in the middle of the darkened backyard.

He blinked, swallowing the weird lump forming in his throat.

A door slammed open and shut, and Kyle heard a few footsteps pounding down the steps of the Clyde’s patio.

“Kyle, what happened?” asked Stan. Kenny, standing next to him, rubbed his eyes, clearly still drunk. “We heard a noise outside, and someone said you and Cartman got into a fucking _fight?!_ ”

“Um...not exactly,” said Kyle, sheepishly. “Well, yeah, but not really.”

“I think you need to let whatever problem you have with him go,” said Kenny. How he could be drunk _and_ insightful, all at once, Kyle had no idea.

“Yeah, dude, seriously,” Stan grabbed Kyle by the shoulders. “It’s not fucking worth it, I mean, what exactly are you even trying to _accomplish_ , here?”

Kyle bit his lip. They were right. He _didn’t_ know what he had been trying to accomplish by desperately seeking-out Cartman, and trying to resolve/get to the bottom of _whatever_ new issue he’d taken with him. Maybe it was only because he really didn’t want to admit that Cartman had grown on him over the past seven years, but he decided to chalk it all up to their history and the way his former childhood-frenemy now seemingly had leverage over him.

And Kyle _loved_ being in control...he didn’t so much savour the feeling of losing it.

“I dunno,” Kyle shrugged, tugging at the sides of his hat. “I really, don’t know. Just forget about it.”

The three headed back into the house, and after a few drinks, Kyle had already forgotten about it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recap: kyle gave cartman some groceries, and cartman was so unappreciative. then, they got into a fight at clyde's party where cartman was like "i don't wanna talk to you anymore" and kyle was like "wait wtf" and felt bad about it, but it's not bc he wants cartman in his life or nothing bc he doesn't so
> 
> this chapter is a LITTLE longer than anticipated lol, hopefully that's all g...ik this has been a very kyle-centric fic so far, but there will be like...small parts every now and then, that are more eric-centric, just for perspective.
> 
> feel free to HMU on discord (lai#1475) or my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

Kyle might have forgotten about his fight with Cartman, but Eric Cartman didn’t.

He crawled into bed that night, pulling the covers back over his head, to mute the constant ringing that echoed in his ears, when he became too aware of his surroundings. His mother’s car wasn’t in the driveway. The window was opened a crack, and he could faintly hear the party still thriving in the distance. It was a _loud_ party. They all lived so close to each other. He couldn’t imagine a life where his friends didn’t live just within walking distance.

 _You know, I thought that somehow, you’d changed, but you’re gone for two months, and you’re back to being a sick, nasty,_ spoiled _fuck._

Kyle’s words left a bad taste in his mouth.

 _Every time it seems like you might actually be a decent person, with_ actual _feelings...you turn around and disappoint everyone._

Those hurt the worst. So bad, he felt a bile taste settle in his mouth, but was too exhausted to even care, and rolled back onto his side, facing away from the window. Words hurt the very most when they were _true_ , and Eric believed every single one of them.

Not that he’d ever admit it to Kyle.

He _knew_ he was the world’s worst child. He _knew_ what he had done and that he had ruined many lives, hurt others, often fucking himself over in the process...it had always been a fight with him and Kyle; each doing something more awful than the first beforehand, but he’d _always_ taken the cake. Sure, Kyle was often the more aggressive of the two, but Eric had done more than enough to prove himself cruel.

His therapist blamed it on his parental issues...Liane never being around anymore those days, and the level of self-awareness Eric found himself facing now that he was old enough to truly wrap around his head, the concept of his mother being a whore. That she had been selling herself for money and drugs. His father being dead, and it being his own fault, not to mention his traumatic childhood. It was a recipe for disaster, altogether, and he was reminded of it every damn day he took his medication.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, tossing and turning, thinking about Kyle and trying to forget the way his heart beat out of tempo, when his hands were gripping his shirt and their eyes locked. Kyle’s eyes had bore deeply into him, narrowed, but he could still see how rich and green there were, with flecks of hazel at the centre — they contrasted _perfectly_ with his dark, red hair, that snuck out of his hat, and all around his face and forehead, in soft, loosened curls. He’d always thought Kyle was good-looking when they were kids, but man, was he _ever_ attractive now. Kyle sent shivers down Eric’s spine, for all the right _and_ wrong reasons. If he was forced to stare into those wild, emerald eyes, any longer, he might just be too tempted to reach upwards and finish what his dreams over the course of the past eight years had started—

Eric wanted to fucking scream at that point. Fuck Kyle, fuck Kyle for getting into his head, fuck Kyle for still brandishing that ugly hat at 17-years-old, fuck Kyle for thinking he was better than everyone, fuck Kyle for being smart, and fuck Kyle for being— _that way_...Cartman felt his throat close up and whole body shake, just in his presence. The worst part was that Kyle wasn’t even _trying_. He just was.

He held in his screams, not feeling anything coming-out of his mouth when he tried, anyway. He pushed away several blankets, stomping across the room, to his closet. Tugging the doors open, he used the flashlight on his phone, to dig around his stuff. Way past a stack of old journals, sat his ancient piggy bank. He’d never been good at saving money; as a child, Eric tended to spend money the moment he received it, but he hoped he’d have _something_ inside.

Stupid fucking Kyle and his obsession with “doing the right thing”, was about to set him back $14.76. At least they’d finally be even, and he’d never have to deal with Kyle again if he didn’t want to. And for one big, fat reason, he didn’t want to. All he had to do, was go in there, and not make eye contact with Kyle.

And that would be the end.

Eric heard the loud engine of a truck approaching his house, and he flew over to the window. That same, damned truck. Stupid _fucking_ truck. The driver's side door flung open, and loud, snarling laughter, rang out into the night. The crunch of boots hitting gravel, made him feel sick to his stomach, but the flighty giggles that followed, were what scared Eric to his very core. That was his cue to turn off his lamp, and slip back under the covers.

He'd had enough problems for one night.

 

* * *

 

Kyle was still recovering from his wicked hangover, come Monday morning. He’d had one too many beers, and three too many shots, and that was _after_ the big confrontation. It was a stupid, _stupid_ decision, for him to be drinking anyway, especially considering, he only had one kidney. And it wasn’t even _his_ kidney, it was Cartman’s.

Why did his thought patterns always seem to progress forward, and then somehow, leap back, and settle on Eric Cartman, again? He was still understandably _pissed_ , about that night. Not so much at Cartman, however, and more at himself for the weird way he’d been behaving. It was odd, because as a child, often all he _wanted_ was for Cartman to shut the fuck up and leave him alone, so at what point did he start oddly _missing_ him? He could reflect back into their childhood antics and drama, and the telling signs that he maybe...just _maybe_ ... _did_ enjoy Cartman’s presence and liked having him around, but he didn’t realize it was serious enough for him to make an ass of himself at a party like that. It was just unfair that _he_ was the one on the receiving end of the cold shoulder.

He slammed his head into his top locker, cursing himself for being overly punctual, meaning he still had another 20-something minutes before homeroom, to contemplate on the stupid party drama and all of the clear-coded signs he was _losing his mind_ , when he heard someone approaching his locker.

Speak of the devil—

“What do you want?” Kyle glared, refusing eye contact. The two of them _both_ giving the cold shoulder, was a nasty combination. Usually they couldn’t keep their fucking mouths shut around each other, so this was new.

“Here,” said Cartman, holding out of a Ziploc bag of money.

Kyle tentatively peeked at it, then looked back away. “I don’t want it.”

“It’s for the groceries.”

“I know,” Kyle said firmly. “I don’t _want_ it.”

“Well, neither do _I_ , so _take it.”_

“It’s not even _my_ money, my mom paid for those.”

“Then give it to your  _fat bitch_ mom.”

“ _God_ , you’re unbearable,” Kyle snatched the bag, opening and rifling through the coins and crumpled bills. “How did you know how much to pay me?” He asked, suspiciously.

“Receipt in the bag.”

“You’re short a few bucks.”

“It’s the best I could fucking do.”

Kyle slammed his locker shut, coming face to face with Cartman, who instantly averted his eyes, when they made contact. Kyle scoffed, rolling his eyes, at the immaturity he was receiving from him. Sure, Eric Cartman was a very immature person, but the cold shoulder was such a junior high thing to give to him. He wanted to act like it didn’t bother him, although it clearly did, but Kyle knew that his former arch-nemesis _thrived_ off of attention— as long as he wasn’t receiving it, he’d either completely abandon him or he’d come crawling back.

Not that Kyle _wanted_ that second option. But Cartman was predictable to _some_ extent, and that was weirdly reassuring.

 _“Thanks,”_ Kyle huffed, making his way to homeroom early. “Enjoy _my_ groceries.”

Kyle shoved Cartman’s pathetic baggy of cash, deep down into the side pocket of his backpack, where it was likely never to be used.

He didn’t need the money anyway.

 

* * *

 

Winter in the mountains was a bitch, but fall was no picnic, either. Another week or two had passed, and in simpler terms, it was only mid September, and already summer was over: it was starting to get chilly out already. Kyle was grateful for once that he was too insecure about his hair to go without his hat anywhere, because Stan found himself complaining about the weather, nearly daily at school, determined not to let go of the moderate pre-fall, "summer" weather, and still showing up in t-shirts. The four had planned and then cancelled a small camping trip, set for that weekend.

“What do you _mean,_ we’re not going to Stark’s Pond this weekend?” Cartman had asked Stan at lunch.

“It’s too cold,” said Stan, tearing open a packet of ketchup with his teeth. “Look, dude, I wanna drag out summer as much as I can too, but I give up. It’s over. I’m freezing my ass off on the field during practice, so I’m not dragging myself to Stark’s Pond during a cold snap if I don't have to. It’s supposed to be _30_ this weekend.”

“We can go another weekend,” Kenny nodded. “It’s supposed to warm up a bit, next week.”

Kyle sensed Cartman’s disappointment, tentatively locking eyes with him once, before the other boy averted his eyes.

 _Weirdo_.

Yup, the cold snap didn’t seem to be letting up any time soon— and that was in regards to both the fussy Colorado weather, _and_ Kyle and Cartman. If Kyle had thought their constant _bickering_ created awkwardness between the four over the past decade or so, _boy_ did he not know what to expect from _coolness_. The four carried on, like usual, still hanging out, talking, playing video games, but there was no arguing between Kyle and Cartman. There was avoidance of anything Kyle-related, on Cartman’s part, and scoffs and eye-rolls on Kyle’s, but no talking, bickering, _anything_. Even Stan and Kenny had seemed to take notice of the weirdness, but Stan was more preoccupied with football and Wendy Testaburger, and Kenny was always working.

So maybe it really was just _Kyle’s_ problem.

But a whole month had gone by, with zero signs of the mutual cold shoulder coming to an end, and Kyle wondered if his confrontation, at Clyde’s party, had only further contributed to that. Not that he cared, but he did wonder.

Still though, as he sat inside at family dinner on a Friday night, he was thankful for his mother’s cooking. Warm, home-cooked food, paired perfectly with cool weather of all kinds.

Kyle reached for another piece of pot roast, when Sheila cleared her throat. He set his utensils back onto his plate, with caution. He hadn’t recalled doing anything _wrong_ recently, so he was unsure why she needed his immediate attention.

“Kyle, your father and I have been talking,” she started, nudging Gerald, who was still eating. _“Ahem.”_

 _“Oh,”_ he said, focusing back on his oldest son. “Yes, your mother and I have been talking—”

“—and we’ve reached a conclusion, about something _very_ serious.”

Kyle swallowed anxiously.

“The other night, I asked you to run a few errands for me, and—”

“Mom, I’m sorry about the fruit,” Kyle apologized, shifting in his chair. “I promise it won’t happen again, but there was an emergency.”

“No, sweetie, it’s not about the fruit...that was weeks ago,” Sheila laughed, then narrowing her eyes. “... _what_ emergency?”

“Nothing,” Kyle grinned. “What were you saying?” If he could avoid explaining anything Eric Cartman-related, he would take that opportunity.

 _“Anyway,”_ Gerald continued. “We’ve decided that you’re getting older, and you’re planning on going to school on the East Coast, and you know, sometimes you might not wanna go to the hassle of flying, so…we’ve made a tough decision.”

Oh, _god_ , if this was leading to his parents taking Columbia off the table—

“We’ve decided to buy you a car.”

Kyle rose to his feet. “A _car?!_ ”

“Yes, bubbe, _sit down!_ ” Sheila grinned, motioning for her son to take his seat. “I know you’re a responsible driver, and I will expect you to run errands for me more often, but we only have your father’s car, and I think you’re finally mature enough for this.”

 _“I am!”_ Kyle enthused. “I am, Mom, I _am!_ Oh my _fuc_ —”

 _“Language,_ Kyle!” his mother scolded. “We’ll go down to the lot after dinner.”

His younger brother scoffed, suddenly making his silent presence at dinner known. “If Kyle’s getting a car, can I get the new iPhone?”

“Your birthday’s only in a few months, Ikey,” Sheila winked.

“This is _insane!”_ Kyle was elated, rising to his feet once more, and pulling out his phone. His friends would be the first to know, he was about to become the only one of them to have his _very own car_ . “Thank-you, thank-you, _thank-you!_ ”

 _“Relax_ , Kyle, we still have to finish eating!”

There was no “relaxing” Kyle, once he’d heard the news. The four of them climbed into Gerald’s BMW after dinner, and made their way to the used-car dealership. That was one of the conditions: no _way_ were they buying their 17-year-old son, a _brand-new_ car, but Kyle didn’t care. A car was a car was a _car_.

The minute his sneakers hit pavement, Kyle dashed into the lot. Getting a car was just another step on his way to adulthood, and his whole body felt tingly. The South Park used car dealership, was generally hit or miss, but there were a few decent-looking models up for grabs.

“Can I get a—”

“Convertible? _Never_.”

Kyle scoffed. “That’s not what I was gonna ask.”

(That’s totally what he was gonna ask. Boys will be boys.)

“Look for the one with the best gas mileage. And safety features,” Sheila smoothed her hand over the hood of a dark red Nissan.

“Yeah, yeah, I will.” Kyle was practically _bouncing_ from car to car, admiring every one of them, from German to Korean engineering; he had a decent lot to choose from. Well, as long as his parents granted him approval.

He peered into the window of a blue Passat, trying to picture himself and his three closest friends inside. Him, at the wheel, Stan by his side, and then Kenny, and _Cartman—_

_“Kyle?”_

_Fuck_. Not, _now_. What would _Eric Cartman_ , who could barely afford a few packs of broke-college-kid-cuisine, be doing at a _car_ dealership? He sighed, turning around and bracing for the worst.

Kyle blinked. _“Oh_. Stan?”

“Yeah, duh,” His best friend grinned. “Who else would it be?”

“I dunno,” Kyle laughed nervously, then smiling widely. “What are you doing here?”

“My mom’s just finalizing some paperwork for her new car,” Stan shrugged, then inspecting the car Kyle had been eying. “You getting a car, or what?”

“Something like that.”

Stan’s head shot back up. _“Are you fucking serious?”_

His grin was contagious. Kyle lit right back up. “I was gonna text you guys, but I got kinda _distracted…_ ”

 _“Dude!”_ Stan punched him teasingly in the arm. “Kenny and Cartman are gonna be so jealous!”

 _“Yeah…”_ Kyle looked away, still casually maintaining a grin. “My mom is asking a salesperson about safety features, or gas mileage, or whatever, but it’s happening.”

“Jesus Christ, Kyle,” Stan shook his head. “You’re so fucking... _put-together_.”

“That’s not true…”

“No, really,” Stan said, crossing over to the back of the car, inspecting tail lights. “4.2 GPA, a law internship in New York, you’re going to Columbia next year, varsity basketball coming up, a new _car_ …”

“Columbia isn’t a guarantee,” Kyle insisted.

“We _know_ you, Kyle,” Stan laughed. _“It is.”_

Kyle took a deep breath in and out, through his nose. The idea of Columbia never bothered him; it built up anticipation in his chest and filled his whole body with tingly _excitement_ , but damn, all this senior year stuff was beginning to add up. Stan thought he was so put-together, and yeah, he was, but sometimes when he was faced to think about everything on his plate…

It just felt like a lot.

“Kyle, how do you feel about the red Altima?”

Kyle snapped his attention back to Sheila, who was closely standing by, with Stan’s mother. Stan, on the other hand, had walked away and was now leaned up against a car on the other side of the lot, on his phone. Totally gone.

“Uhhh…” Kyle blinked. “I really like that one.”

“Oh, that’s a good choice, Sheila,” Sharon nodded. “That one had the lowest gas mileage.”

“Yeah, the seller only owned it for about 7 months. We’re getting such a bargain.”

Kyle and Stan followed their mothers out of the lot, and into the dealership, Kyle shaking with anticipation, eager to sign the papers, and be a car owner for the very first time of his life.

“Wendy’s getting her dad’s old car after graduation,” said Stan. He was balancing some type of beetle on the tip of his index finger.

“Why did you bring that _thing_ in here?” Kyle crinkled his nose. He didn’t dislike bugs, but he never got Stan’s fascination with wildlife.

He shrugged. “It’s getting cold out…” Stan Marsh’s love of animals would probably only ever be topped by his love for Wendy Testaburger.

 _“Kyle!”_ called Sheila. “Come here and sign a few papers, please.”

He pushed out of his chair, giving Stan and his _new_ best friend a little bit of private time, and instead seating himself in front of a neat stack of papers. He wondered if this would be a sight he’d get used to as a lawyer. Papers, stacked upon papers, and papers of papers...

“Right here, and here, bubbe,” Sheila guided him across the sheet. “There, too. Now, flip the page over…”

Kyle signed the papers neatly, taking note of his father and Randy’s loud conversation, by the coffee machine. He wondered if _that_ would be him and Stan, one day...conversing about their sons over coffee. In a used car lot. He shivered.

“Alright!” grinned the salesman. “And you’ll give the down payment tonight in cash?”

“Yes,” said Sheila, signing a form with one hand, and squeezing Kyle’s arm with the other. “Isn’t this _exciting_ , Kyle? Your very first car.”

Suddenly, the fluorescent lights were 10x brighter, his father’s conversation in the background rang in his ears, and every scritch across the papers his mother continued filling-out drowned out the rest of the world.

He was getting his very own _car_. With car _insurance_. And _gas_ that he’d be paying for, with the _credit card_ , his parents had given him back in the eleventh grade . And with that fuel, he’d be commuting, across the fucking _country_ to _New York_.

Where the _fuck_ had his childhood gone?

“You’re _so_ lucky, Kyle,” Sharon grinned. “Stanley is still driving around in _my_ car.”

“Well, I’m sure Kyle would be happy to give him a lift, any time he needs one.”

“Yeah, of course, Mom,” Kyle nodded. “I...have to go to the washroom.”

“Go ahead, bubbe.”

Kyle walked away, shaking his head at himself for lying. He didn’t even have a reason _to_ lie, but everything was happening all at once, and he needed something to drink. He made his way past Gerald and Randy, grabbing for a styrofoam cup, and pouring himself a thing of shitty, car dealership, dark brew. Still, it was better than _nothing_...that was, with a few packs of sugar and creamer. It would have to do for the time being.

“You must be so fucking _excited.”_

Stan popped up beside him, sans beetle, this time.

“What happened to your friend?”

“Released him into that potted palm tree.”

“I’m 99% sure that plant is totally fake.”

Stan shrugged. “I guess that’s a 1% chance I’ll have to take.”

The two made their way over to the waiting area, where the mothers were sitting and chatting. Kyle took a seat a few chairs away, Stan right beside him, texting someone with a big, blushing grin plastered on his face. Probably Wendy.

 _“_ —I _heard, he’s some hotshot from Denver.”_

Kyle’s mother was gossiping to Sharon. Big surprise. True to the Jersey stereotypes, Sheila Broflovski tended to be a bit of a _Yenta_.

“Really? I heard he was some kind of... _John.”_

“No, no, I mean... _maybe_. But no one’s seen anything of him.”

“I’ve only heard _stories.”_

“Well, he could very well be a super _loaded_ John,” Sheila whispered, in a giggle. “You never _do_ know.”

“I think it’s safe to assume with _Liane.”_

Kyle’s attention peaked.

_That’s just some of my mom’s boyfriend’s shit._

They must have been talking about Liane’s boyfriend. The elusive one, that Cartman had mentioned, was leaving boxes of his stuff in their house.

_I didn’t know your mom had a boyfriend._

“And what about that _son_ of hers?” Sharon whispered.

_Yeah, up until yesterday, neither did I._

_“Eric?”_

“Well, _I_ heard from Linda Stotch, that he was—”

“Hey, can we get going, please?”

Sheila gave her son an odd look, as he rose to his feet, anxiously gripping his iPhone. She gave Sharon a look, then turning back to Kyle.

“Is something _wrong_ , Kyle?”

Kyle bit his lip, trying to think of a valid response, which was difficult in the first place, considering he didn’t even _know_ why the sudden mention of Eric Cartman, sent tingles down his spine. He couldn’t stop thinking about his cart, full of cheap, instant dinners, and the desperate tone in his voice, weeks before.

_It’s the best I could fucking do._

Nothing good could come from a conversation regarding either of the Cartmans, and Kyle didn’t want to hear anything else that would make him feel anymore remorse for him. He was an _asshole_. He’d never been anything _other_ than an _asshole_. Leave it be.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why are you behaving so _rudely?_ We are in _public,_ Kyle.” His mother’s eyes bore through him.

“I’m sorry, I’m just...anxious to get behind the wheel,” Kyle grinned, nervously.

“Well, your father is just reading over the papers once more, and then we’ll be on our way,” Sheila smiled softly, then turning to Sharon. “You know how Gerald can be. Never leaves his lawyering behind at the office.”

Kyle stepped off to the side of the glass-paned building, pacing between two newer models on display. Bright tickets flashed in the corners of their front windows. _YOU COULD WIN!_

_“Dude.”_

Stan was right behind him, still glued to his phone. “Bonfire tonight at Bebe’s. Let’s go.”

 _“What?”_ Kyle scoffed. “But it’s freezing out.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the _idea?_ ” Stan rolled his eyes. “Your parents drove you here; we can take your _car_ and go.”

“Isn’t it kinda _early_ for a party?”

“It’s not a party,” Stan said, still typing. “It’s just, like, a private thing.”

Kyle bit his lip. “I dunno, Stan, I’m not really in a party mood, and I’m not even sure if my mom will let me dri—”

“Hey, Mrs. Broflovski!” Stan called out to his best friend’s mother, as she approached. “Can Kyle and I take out his new car?”

Kyle sighed.

Sheila gave Sharon a look, and she shrugged.

“Yeah, Stanley, that’s fine, just don’t be out too late,” she turned over to Kyle, handing him a stack of 20s and the keys to his Altima. “Dad already parked your car beside ours. Make sure to fill up the tank, before you do _anything_ else. And let me grab you the blanket from our car, it’s gonna be cold tonight.”

He stuffed the wad of cash into the pocket of his thin coat, with a nod. “Thanks, Mom. I mean, thanks for everything.”

“Of course, Kyle,” she reached up to quickly kiss her son on the cheek. “You’re all grown up, now. Just be safe.” She and Sharon continued their conversation, heading outside to the lot.

 _“YES!”_ Stan cheered, wrapping an arm around Kyle’s neck. “Come on, we have to go pick up Wendy.”

Kyle pulled out of his awkward half-hug, wiping imaginary dirt off his sleeve. “Do we _have_ to go to this, Stan? I’m sorta tired.”

“Yeah, come on, it’ll be fun,” Stan pushed the front door of the dealership open wide, blindly making his way into the parking lot. He really was _glued_ to that phone. He was just _that_ into Wendy. “Bebe’s mom doesn’t care if we drink or not.”

“I think I should probably avoid drinking for awhile,” Kyle muttered. After all, last time he _had_ drank, it lead to him wrestling with his childhood rival all _over_ again, as if they were still nine-freaking-years-old.

“Ooh, _right_ ,” Stan winced. “Guess this makes you our new designated driver.”

Oh, and that too.

“Kyle, sweetie, wait!”

Kyle turned around, his mother approaching with the green, fleece blanket she kept in the trunk of his father’s car at all times. He recognized it as one of his old blankets, from when he was a kid, the bright green shade only slightly faded. It was a good idea to keep extra mittens, hats, jackets and blankets around, when you lived in the mountains.

“Thanks, Mom,” said Kyle, taking the fleece bundle from her arms.

“Keep this in the back of the car, okay? You never know when you might need it,” Sheila warned. “Please don’t stay out too late. And be safe…” she smiled sadly. “Oh, you’re so _grown-up_ , Kyle…”

“Mom, please…” Kyle grinned awkwardly, shooting Stan a look, as his friend snickered at him.

“Drive safe, bubbe,” his mother reached upwards, pecking his cheek. “Bye, Stanley!”

“See you later, Mrs. Broflovski!” Stan smiled, then elbowing Kyle. “You have lipstick all over your cheek.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, wiping off his cheek, with the back of his hand. “Just get in the car.”

Kyle unlocked the doors, slipping behind the wheel, with Stan in the passenger seat. He slid the key into place, revving up the engine and starting the car. His hands felt so _weird,_ gripping the steering wheel. He’d driven plenty of times before, but never in his _own_ car. It made him feel mature. And powerful.

“Let’s _go_ _,”_ encouraged Stan. “Dude, if we’re late to pick-up _Wendy_ _,_ then _Bebe_ will be pissed, and then _I—”_

“Wendy, Bebe, pissed, I’ve got it, Stan,” Kyle put the car into reverse, backing out of the lot, and getting onto the main road.

Stan scoffed, slipping his phone into his jacket pocket. They drove in silence for a minute or two, before he asked, “Are you _mad_ at me?”

“No, no,” Kyle insisted. “No, I’m not _mad_ , it’s just that _I’m_ the one driving, so you can be a little less pushy.”

Stan coughed lightly. “Well if _my_ parents bought me a new car, _I’d_ drive us there, but I can’t.”

Kyle glared. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Luckily, South Park was small enough, that getting really anywhere in town, wasn’t a long drive. He turned into the neighbourhood, thankful that this conversation-gone-wrong would soon be over.

 _“Nothing,”_ Stan insisted. “Really, Kyle, I was just...saying it.”

Kyle nodded. “Oka—”

 _“STOP!”_ Stan said, prompting Kyle to hit the breaks. “We’re here.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Stan, you nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, when you—”

The back door flew open, and Wendy quickly slipped into her seat, after kissing Stan, who practically had to push Kyle aside, and reach into the back to meet her lips. He rolled his eyes. Did they _really_ need to kiss, every moment of the day?

“This is a really nice car, Kyle,” Wendy commented, doing up her seatbelt. “Kinda thought you’d go with an electric model, like your dad used to have. Better for the environment.”

“Uh, we kinda had bad luck with that car,” Kyle hesitated, pulling out of his parking spot. The events surrounding San Francisco, South Park, and the great electric-car-smug-storm-debacle were still really fuzzy in his head, but if he had gotten one lesson out of it, it was that Broflovskis + electric cars = disaster.

And that he could thank his lucky _stars_ _,_ he and his family were still _somehow,_ alive.

The three made their way, just down the street, to Bebe’s. Stan and Wendy were the first out, locking hands and chattering away, as they made their way to the back gate. Kyle stayed back for a moment, pulling his phone out to check his text messages. Nope, nothing urgent, not that he’d been waiting on a message, but he just needed a breather. He tried to picture the Altima, packed with boxes and bags of his stuff, heading all the way to the East Coast for school. South Park to NYC was a _long_ drive. He hoped that was a trip he’d only have to make once…

Kyle finally stuffed his phone away, stepping out into the dark. It had been moderately cold during the day, but it was a _chilly_ evening. He started wishing he’d worn his scarf, because the wind was harsh that night, nipping at his cheeks, and sending chills down his spine. In the distance, down the road, he could see a beaten up truck, parked in front of the Cartmans’ house. He knew Cartman didn’t have his own car, and Liane had driven the same, fast-food-reeking SUV, since they were nine-years-old, so it wasn’t one of theirs. It had to belong to a stranger. A weird, red glow, emanated from the windows of the first floor, half-hidden by thin curtains, but the inside of Cartman’s room on the second level, looked almost pitch black. Maybe he was asleep, but around 9:30PM, that seemed unlikely.

Something about that house gave him the creeps.

Kyle shook it off, chalking it all up to his newfound Eric Cartman obsession, and also, the fact, that he was probably close to losing his mind. Maybe a bonfire would take the weirdness off of his mind. Yeah, maybe it would be _fun_...him being emotionally exhausted and overwhelmed by his own thoughts, and disappointingly unable to drink it away, or not.

Kyle stepped out of his car, locking it shut, and heading to the back gate of Bebe’s house. It was true; her mother was notoriously known as the “cool mom”, which probably explained why alcohol was allowed pretty liberally in the Stevens household, and also why Bebe had earned her long-standing reputation as a sexy, party girl. No, _The_ sexy, party girl. Kyle couldn’t even _fathom_ how she and Wendy remained best friends, but then again, he and Stan didn’t have that much in common nowadays, and there they were.

The bonfire wasn’t a huge group so far, it was really just Bebe’s close friends and a lot of the guys from their class since pre-K. There was a cooler full of cheap drinks, and chairs spread haphazardly around the yard. So far it looked like senior year was shaping up to be _party_ year.

 _“KYLE!”_ she shouted, running over to the gate, to make a big show of greeting him. Bebe smelled of spirits and sugary lipgloss. She wrapped her arms around Kyle’s neck, then reaching downwards and pinching his ass.

_“Ow.”_

“Hey everyone, this is my _ex_ -boyfriend, _Kyle!”_ Bebe was a completely different person and a _wreck_ when she was this drunk. “Isn’t he _cuuuuute?”_

Kyle’s cheeks turned a shade of red, that would _rival_ his hair. He’d only “dated” Bebe for about two weeks, back in the 10th grade, and had no real interest in her. He didn’t really think their “relationship”, would give him any qualification as “ex-boyfriend” status and he _hated_ the unwarranted attention— especially knowing that Clyde was her current boyfriend, and he didn’t want to start any unnecessary drama with the football team.

“She’s already, _really_ drunk,” Wendy whispered, nudging Kyle in the arm, once Bebe had let go of her clutch. “She’s not thinking clearly.”

_“Clearly.”_

Kenny half-drunkenly, wrapped an arm around Kyle’s shoulder, handing him a beer. God, everyone was all _over_ him that night. “C’mon, Broflovski, I saved you a chair.”

“I can’t drink, Kenny,” said Kyle, passing the chilled can to Wendy. The last thing his lush-in-the-making friend needed was a beer passed back to him— and that applied to Stan, too. “I’m driving tonight.”

“Kyle’s parents got him a _fucking car!_ _”_ Stan shouted, reaching into a nearby cooler, popping open the tab of a canned beer, and raising it in a toast to no one in particular.

 _“WHAT THE FUCK?!”_ Kenny exclaimed, playfully punching Kyle in the shoulder. “And you didn’t think to _tell_ us?!”

“Sorry, sorry…” Kyle rubbed his shoulder, taking a seat in a lawn chair, next to Kenny. “So, you’re a _violent_ drunk now?”

“Shhhhh,” Kenny laughed. “Kyle, you _gotta_ let us borrow that car some time.”

“Yeah, for real, _please?_ _”_ Stan grinned, throwing back his beer. Drunk-Kenny was annoying, but Drunk-Stan was not a person that Kyle enjoyed being around. “There’s that really pretty stretch off the highway, where, like, you can see the stars at night, and I wanna take Wendy, but I can’t do it in my fucking _mom’s_ car.”

“You mean, Stark’s Pond?”

Kenny sneered. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me, dude? _Kyle’s_ gonna be the one eating ass under the stars, in that used piece of _shit.”_

“Its previous owner actually only had it for seven months, so—”

 _“HA!”_ Bebe squealed, throwing her head back. “ _Kyle?_ As _if_ , I know from past experience, and knowing _all_ of Kyle’s exes, he _barely_ puts out.”

Kyle felt heat rising up in his chest. “Bebe, that was two fucking years ago.”

“You’re not _mad_ at me, _are you?_ ” she laughed, sipping on her cheap, canned cocktail.

“Ooh, you don’t put _out_ , Kyle?” Kenny snickered. “What about that girl in New York?”

 _“OH. MY. GOD,”_ Bebe practically choked. “No _way_. Tell me _all_ about what happened.”

Wendy rolled her eyes, protectively placing her hands on Bebe’s shoulders. “Maybe we should go inside for some coffee.”

“I’m not thirsty, bitch!” Bebe threw back the rest of her drink. Kyle had no _idea_ how she was wearing a tank top and high-waisted skirt outside, while he was still a little chilly in a fall coat and his ushanka, but he suspected liquor was a large factor.

“Come on, maybe we should go see Cly—”

“Clyde’s flirting with Red,” Bebe hiccuped. “I don’t wanna see him.”

Wendy gave Stan an exasperated look, then leading her best friend to the back door. “Shh, I know, but—”’

“I wanna hear about Broflovski’s _girlfriend!_ ” she whined. _“Wendy!”_

The two were finally gone and Kyle’s face remained stone-cold, but his cheeks were bright red. _Great_. Now every single girl at this god-awful bonfire, thought he had a girlfriend, _and_ that he didn’t put out. Cause he _did_ put out, he just didn’t have as much free time as Stan and Kenny did, to be dating and banging and doing whatever the fuck girls apparently expected of him in the bedroom. In fact, his pathetic second-base, “one night stand”, with the office intern, back in New York, had been the only action he’d gotten in quite some time. He pulled at the sides of his ushanka.

“Fucking _hell_ ,” Kyle groaned, intensely glaring down at his own feet.

Stan giggled. “Kyle, it’s really not _that_ big of a dea—”

“OoOoOh, _Kyle!_ _”_ teased Fosse, and a few of his friends, from the other side of the fire. “Way to go, dude! You’re a _strong_ independent woman, no matter _what_ they say! You make the men _work_ for it.”

Kyle and his friends had never been close to Fosse’s posse and he now remembered why: they were annoying _dickheads_. Standing nearby, Kyle made eye contact with Craig, who shrugged, rolled his eyes, and ignored it, hand intertwined with Tweek’s, as per protocol. He pulled his phone out, just to look for a distraction, and no other real reason.

 

 **Mom  
** **9:10 PM** **  
** _Kyle, I hope you remembered to get gas!_

_Drive safe and keep your phone on so I can contact you._

 

Oh, shit. He’d totally spaced it, distracted by his weirdly hostile conversation with Stan. Stan, who was already half tipsy, lounging in the chair next to his.

One of Fosse’s obnoxious friends, slammed down his beer can, with a hoot. “You didn’t _put out_ for _Bebe,_ Broflovski? What are you, _gay?_ ”

Kyle seethed, getting up on his feet, to which his challengers cheered on. It was such a pathetic jab, like, a _really_ junior high insult, but he felt his cheeks heating up and he’d had about enough public embarrassment for one night.

Stan giggled, then tugging at Kyle’s coat, trying to calm him down. “They’re just _kidding_ , dude, really...”

Kyle considered giving Fosse and his friends, a piece of his fucking mind, as he _knew_ he could. He had a mean streak and knew how to knock someone’s lights out, if he had to, but he knew it really wasn’t worth the fight. He shoved his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, heading for the gate. “I’ve gotta go.”

“No, wait, _Kyle_ _,”_ Stan threw his empty beer can in the direction of Kyle’s teasers. _“_ _Fuck off_ , guys, at least he’s _gotten_ some— no, Kyle, come on, they’re id—”

“I don’t care,” Kyle snapped. “I have to go run an errand.”

“Kyle, _come on_ ,” Stan laughed. “I mean, Fosse’s as asshole, and Bebe’s just _drunk,_ she’s just _saying_ things, and she and Clyde are having issues or something, what, didn’t you guys date for like, a _week? ”_

 _“Two_ weeks,” Kyle slammed the gate behind him and Stan.

 _“Ooh_...and you still didn’t pu—”

“We were like, 15, Stan, Jesus _Christ,”_ Kyle shook his head. “Like I said, I don’t give a shit about Fosse and his retarded friends, I have to go do something.”

“Do, _what?!_ _”_ asked Stan, as Kyle unlocked his car. “It’s almost _10PM!"_

“Gas stations don’t just close at 9,” Kyle crawled into the driver’s seat, Stan following him to his window.

“What about me and Wendy? You drove us here!”

“We’re like, a three-minute walk from your house,” Kyle snapped. “Drink responsibly, Stan.”

Stan backed away from his car, stepping backwards, onto Bebe’s front yard. Kyle was taking off, but he could still make out the distinct and familiar wail:

_“Kyle?!”_

Yeah, he kind of felt like an asshole for abandoning Stan. He even considered, momentarily, turning back and going back to Bebe’s, but he needed some serious time to cool down and blow off some steam. It wasn’t even like he’d had a bad day either, it was mostly internal things that were starting to really get on his last nerve. And maybe that “gay” comment. He’d always considered himself straight, but something about it set him off. Kyle drove around for a few blocks, before deciding to drive by Stark’s Pond, and then maybe head for the highway. He needed solitude.

Hitting the gas pedal harder, and making his way over to the other side of town, Kyle felt a little bit spoiled for being so fussy and angry on a day where he’d be given such a huge new privilege, but he had already been feeling overwhelmed from the “you’re such a grown-up” comments earlier, and now the “Kyle never puts out” gag, the “gay” thing, and _Cartman_ —

_Cartman?_

There was a bulky figure, just up the road, trudging along aimlessly, with what looked like a duffel bag over his shoulder. Goddammit, Kyle must have known Eric for too many fucking years, if at this point, even after weight loss, he could _still_ recognize the guy’s silhouette.

Kyle slowed back, literally automatically, cautiously pulling up beside him. _What the fuck am I_ doing?, he silently pondered, but it was seriously pathetic, watching him walking all alone, past sunset, during a cold and windy night, on his way to seemingly nowhere. Kyle sighed, and rolled down his window, as Cartman turned his head over in his direction.

“What are you _doing?_ ” asked Kyle.

Cartman’s face was red; probably stung from walking this far in the heartless, frozen wind. “Going for a walk, Kyle. ‘The fuck does it look like?”

“It’s almost 10PM.”

“Then go home,” he snapped.

“Cartman, it’s like, 35 degrees out here,” Kyle groaned, kicking himself for even bothering. “You look like a fucking _idiot._ What are you doing?”

Cartman rolled his eyes. “Just ‘cause _you_ _,_ Stan and _Kenny_ are too pussy to go camping, ‘cause it’s “too cold”, doesn’t mean _I’m_ giving up my camping trip.”

Kyle blinked, looking down. “Oh, right...we _were_ supposed to go camping this weekend.”

Cartman nodded, rubbing his arms together and shivering. Kyle wondered if it was for show, but probably not. Just having the window open, he was starting to freeze himself.

“Oh, _that’s_ what the duffel bag is for,” Kyle narrowed his eyes. “So what, you packed yourself a bunch of 20 cent ramen and a pillow, and decided to go camping at like, midnight?”

“Best time to go camping, Kyle,” he crossed his arms together, pouting, and turning the other direction. His thick, long bangs, blew around his face, and paired with his round cheeks, he almost looked childlike.

Then Kyle observed the other boy _really_ closely. His coat was zipped all the way up, but his face and neck were still unprotected, and his hands were shoved into his pockets for warmth. His duffel bag lacked any lumps, which meant, probably he hadn’t packed a whole lot or had a lot of _time_ to, and there was a red welt forming, on the right side of his cheek. Kyle thought back to the creepy truck parked in front of his house, and the eery red light. It was becoming fairly common for Cartman’s situation to read as ‘dire’.

Still, he was a fucking asshole, and he did _not_ deserve the attention. No _way_ _._ And he would _not_ be receiving it, either. No way, no way in _hell,_ Kyle Broflovski would _not_ be giving Eric Cartman _any_ attention, or help, not this time, not _ever_ again.

Kyle sighed. “Get in.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recap: kyle's parents bought him a car, so then he and stan went to this random bonfire thing, but kyle got Angry and left and then found cartman just like. casually walking along the highway in freezing colorado mountain town weather and was like "hey excuse me but get in the car idiot" but it's not bc he cares abt cartman bc he doesn't
> 
> hey what's up hello ok so finally we have a full chapter w/ an actual kyle/cartman interaction and i'm screaming internally bc y'all dk how much i was dying to write/post this (let's be real, we're all in it for this dynamic so). i hope this doesn't disappoint!! (':
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

If there was ever a moment, that both Kyle and Cartman had been on the _exact_ same page... _this_ was that moment:

_“What?”_

Kyle thought he’d misheard himself too, and yet, he hadn’t. He sighed, annoyed with himself already. “You heard me. _Get in_.”

Cartman’s eyes narrowed and his mouth opened as if he were going to say something, but he didn’t. He almost looked comical, gaping, with those same, big, round, cheeks, tinted bright red with colour. Instead of walking around to get into the passenger side, he simply turned the other direction and walked away.

Kyle narrowed his eyes. That fucking _prick_. That motherfucking _prick_ had the _audacity_ to walk away from him, after being offered a ride. He punched the steering wheel, cursing both internally _and_ externally, for even offering to rescue him again; giving that _asshole_ the upper hand _again_. “Fucking _idiot_ ,” he muttered, about to press his foot to the pedal, before he heard the passenger door click open.

The _fucking idiot_ , took his place next to Kyle, slumping back into his seat, arms crossed, like a child.

“What, _now_ , you decide to get in?” Kyle scoffed.

“What did you expect me to do, Kyle, _teleport_ across the street to the side of your car?”

Oh. He’d had to walk around the back of the car. Duh. “You could have said something.”

“Whatever, I’m here now.”

“Fucking great,” Kyle glared, pressing his foot to the pedal, and taking off down the street. He was so glad that it was only September, and he didn’t have to worry about snowy roads yet. “I’m taking you home.”

_“What?!”_

“What, did you lose your mind _and_ your hearing, out there?” Kyle snapped. “You’re going home.”

“No, I’m going camping!”

_“No.”_

“This is _kidnapping!”_ he reached for the button on his door, to open the window and shout. “Kyle Broflovski is _kidnapping_ m—”

“God, cut it _out_. You’re acting like such a _brat_ ,” Kyle sighed, exasperated. “Cartman, it’s cold out tonight, and you’re not even dressed properly, and you clearly didn’t pack anything, you can’t go camping all alone.”

“Oh, alright, and when did _you_ become my fucking _daddy?”_

If Kyle weren’t driving, he’d bang his head on the fucking steering wheel. _Why_ was he doing this, again? _Why_ did Cartman deserve any of his attention? Especially after the weirdly hurtful things he’d said to him before and after their “fight”, at Clyde’s party? Why was Kyle still feeling bad for him, and ordering him into his car, to prevent him from freezing to death, all alone, at Stark’s Pond?

Well, he wouldn’t freeze to death, or anything...it was brisk, but it wasn’t _that_ cold...he wouldn’t _die…_ he’d maybe just freeze into a pathetic Eric-Cartman-shaped icicle, but even that didn’t sound all too pleasant to Kyle.

If only Cartman weren’t so goddamn difficult.

“Do you have to use _that_ word?” Kyle seethed. “Don’t be an asshole about it, cause I can just—” His eyes flickered to the Speedometer and Kyle nearly braked, in panic. “Oh, shit, the fucking gas!”

“Geez, calm down, Ky—”

“I’m almost out of gas now!” Kyle glared, then muttering. “Thanks a _lot.”_

 _“What?!”_ Cartman scoffed. “How is that _my_ fault?!”

Kyle drew a blank. “Because you’re a dick.”

 _“You’re_ the asshole who forced me into his car!”

“Because you were gonna freeze to death, walking out here!” Kyle grumbled, taking a right up ahead, and turning down the road to the nearest gas station, on the outskirts of town. “I swear to god, Cartman, you have no fucking common sense. I can’t believe I’m rescuing you a _second_ time.” He shook his head, both at the other’s boys irresponsible attitude, and his own idiocy, for trying to explain something simple to an idiot. In the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Cartman quietly grinning to himself, then quickly facing the window, a second later.

_Weirdo._

They drove for another moment, in silence, Kyle then pulling into the gas station and parking in front of a pump. He texted his mother, so she knew not to worry about gas, then slid his phone back into his pocket, opening his car door. The place was dead— that was the nice thing about being out and about late; no lines, no waiting, no nothing. He clicked open the lid of the gas tank, filling his sorta-brand-new car, for the very first time. Cartman sat inside, waiting, with his head resting in the palm of his hand, almost wistfully, staring out the window, into the distance. Kyle wondered if _he_ had big aspirations for after grad, too...if he wanted to move away, if he had a dream job, _anything,_ but it was _Cartman,_ so probably not.

When the tank was full, Kyle clicked the gas pump back into its socket, snapping the car’s lid shut. He opened the driver’s sidedoor, getting inside and reaching into the back, for his wallet. It had been concealed under the blanket, that he just tossed aside. Whatever his mother thought he’d need a blanket for, he didn’t know.

“Come on,” Kyle mumbled to his slightly unwanted passenger. “I have to go pay.”

“Then go pay.” Cartman didn’t look away from his perch at the window.

“I’m not leaving you in my new car, alone.”

Cartman’s head turned. “What the _fuck?_ You got a _car?”_

“Yeah, just a few hours ago,” Kyle said, hands propped up on against the driver’s seat. “So what?”

He just scoffed, murmuring something to himself, that Kyle couldn’t recognize as anything but rudeness.

“Just get out here.”

The two made their way to the convenience store to pay, Cartman’s hands stuffed back into his pockets, and Kyle reluctantly crossing his arms. Neither dared speak or make eye contact. Kyle just glared at the ground, still resenting himself for inviting Cartman into his car, but shit...sometimes, it was like he _needed_ to be babysat. He still had no common sense, at 17-years-old, and Kyle didn’t get how someone could lack that much self-awareness. He pulled open the door to the small building, and the two slipped inside.

Cartman started heading for the snack section of the store, but Kyle grabbed his sleeve before he could get too far. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? I have to pay for gas.”

“I’m just looking,” Cartman rolled his eyes. _“Jesus Christ.”_

“Typical _fatass_ _,”_ Kyle muttered under his breath, watching as the other boy took off into the last little aisle by the wall. _Of_ course _looking at food is entertaining to him_ , he thought.

“15 gallons,” Kyle mumbled to the attendant, who put down her copy of an old People magazine from 2009, and punched a few buttons into the till. He looked up, and when the two locked eyes briefly, he noticed one thing about her right away: she was pretty damn hot...as in, _college_ girl, hot.

She flirtily raised a brow, shooting Kyle a bright white grin. “Leaded or unleaded?”

“Unleaded,” he smiled. Maybe girls could just _tell_ he had gotten a new car or something, because, between Bebe’s weird affection and now, the flirtatious cashier, Kyle was _popular_ , tonight. _“Please.”_

She clicked another button, still eyeing Kyle up and down, as she went. He pulled out his wallet, reaching inside for a few bills. “You _know_ , I—"

 _“HEY!”_ the attendant’s eyes flew over to a loud crinkly sound, that came from behind Kyle. “What are you _doing_ with those?!”

Kyle was almost afraid to turn around, but he had to— that stupid, _asshole_ , Eric Cartman, was hunched over on the floor, with a few packs of ramen noodles, slipping out from underneath his jacket. God, was that all he _ate_ nowadays?! He looked worried and embarrassed, but not even _half_ as embarrassed as Kyle was feeling. His hands bunched up into fists, cheeks bright red.

Leave it to Eric Fuckin’ Cartman, to ruin any chance he had with a cute girl.

“Uhhh...I brought these from home?”

She stepped out from behind the counter. “Please unzip your jacket, sir.”

Cartman scoffed. “I know my rights! _Kyle,_ tell her my rights!”

She turned around. “Oh, you’re with him, then?”

Kyle looked away, feeling uncomfortable. “Uh... _no.”_

 _“WHAT?!”_ Cartman gasped. “He’s a fucking liar, okay?! We know each other, and he’s gonna be a lawyer! Kyle, tell her my _rights!"_

Kyle seethed, speaking in a low and quiet tone. _“Undo_ ...your _fucking_ jacket...Cartman...” The other boy’s face turned bright red, and he instantly obeyed, unzipped his jacket. More packages of cheap noodles, as well as what looked like a phone charger, wrapped up and held together with plastic, came tumbling to the floor.

“That’s charger’s from Electronics,” the girl glared, heading behind the counter, to the phone. “Now I’m required to call my manager and the _police.”_

Kyle felt his whole body tense up, the moment he heard “police”. He felt so stupid for inviting Cartman into his car. He should have left him to fucking freeze.

 _“Electronics?!_ Is that a _joke?!"_  Cartman scoffed. “There are like, _five_ different things over there, and I—”

 _“WAIT!”_ Kyle shouted before the attendant could dial. “Don’t call the police, okay? He’s with me.”

“Oh, is that your angle, then?” she narrowed her eyes. “Flirt with the cashier, while he goes in the back and shoplifts from us?”

Kyle scoffed. “It’s just _ramen_ noodles, I mean—”

“—And the phone charger.”

“Alright, _look_ _,_ my dad is Gerald Broflovski,” Kyle rubbed his neck anxiously. The “my dad’s a lawyer” card _had_ worked more than once before. “He runs the law office?”

_“So?”_

Okay, so never mind. Kyle pulled his wallet back out, slipping out his credit card. “Look, he’s with me, okay?” He shot Cartman a dirty look. “He was just _playing_ a _dumb joke_ _,_ and it won’t happen again. I’ll pay for everything.”

“Well, I sure hope so, ‘cause you still haven’t paid for gas, either,” she smiled passive-aggressively.

 _“Fine,”_ Kyle looked down, trying to keep the anger that had been building up inside of him concealed. “Cartman, bring your shit over here.”

“You don’t have to buy those for me, Kyle, I’m—”

“Actually, because you tried _stealing_ them, and you’re broke as _fuck_ , I _do_ have to buy these,” he glared, baring his teeth. “So, bring all your _shit_ up to the counter.”

The cashier punched in a few more numbers, Kyle slipping her a few bills for gas, and paying for Cartman’s “food” and gas station iPhone charger with his own credit card. She aggressively stuffed everything into a plastic bag and practically threw it at Kyle. “Thanks,” he muttered.

She turned around, once more, looking in the direction of Kyle’s unwelcome companion. “You’re a Cartman, hey?” she slammed the phone back into its clutch. _“Figures.”_

Kyle swiftly scooped the bag up, with his gloved hand, turning around to face Cartman. A flicker of sadness, or maybe confusion, flickered over his eyes for a moment, but it disappeared a moment later, as Kyle grabbed his sleeve, pulling him out of the store.

Kyle unlocked his car, slipping into the driver’s seat, and resting his head against the wheel for a moment. _What the fuck am I doing?_ he asked himself, for the second time that night, but he could come up with no good answer.

_“Kyle?”_

He took his head from off the wheel, throwing the plastic bag in Cartman’s direction. “Get the _fuck_ out of my car!”

“What?! _Why?!_

“Oh, I dunno,” Kyle scoffed. “Because you’re a fucking _shoplifter_ , and almost got me arrested!”

Cartman rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Kyle, that’s retarded. They’re not gonna arrest us for a few packs of ramen, and—”

“Man, you really don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself, do you?” Kyle laughed viciously. “You heard me. Get. _Out.”_

_“Fine.”_

Cartman grabbed both of his bags, slamming the door shut, and heading off into the darkness, towards the main road. Kyle watched in his rear-view mirror, as his shivering body slunk off into the distance. God, he didn’t even have a pair of _mittens_ on. He’d definitely come down with something in that kind of weather…

Kyle hated himself so much.

He pulled up, slowly cruising along the road, for the second time that night, to where Cartman trudged along, pathetically, making his way to probably nowhere at all. If he was trying to get back to Stark’s Pond, he was walking the exact opposite direction he needed to go.

Kyle rolled his window down, leaning out of the car. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Cartman wouldn’t reply. He just continued to sulk, continuing in the wrong direction.

“I’m fucking _serious_ _,_ Cartman.”

“Go away.”

“Look,” Kyle seethed. “I just saved your ass _again_ _,_ so I’m gonna need some real answers from you.”

 _“No,”_ he heard the other boy choke. “I don’t wanna talk to you.”

“You’re a fucking brat.”

“Fuck off!”

 _“Fine!”_ Kyle shouted. “Walk home, for all I care.” He hit the gas, prepared to speed off and never look back again.

But of course, he looked back, and the idiot was chasing after his car, shouting loud enough for him to hear: _“KYLE, WAIT!”_

 _Idiot_. Kyle braked, crossing his arms, and waiting for the _idiot_ to come back.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Kyle muttered, as the other boy approached his window.

Cartman caught his breath, before speaking. “Why do you even _care?"_

Kyle took a deep breath, in and out. “Cartman, I don't, just... _get in the fucking car_.”

Cartman made his way around the back, shamefully sulking and climbing into the passenger seat, throwing both of his bags under his side of the dashboard. He crossed his arms, refusing to look at Kyle.

 _What a fucking child_ , Kyle thought to himself, pushing against the gas pedal, and making his way back into town. He just wanted to drop Cartman off, and get himself home. The night had not gone the way he’d neither hope, nor expect.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Kyle seethed. “I mean, I’ve known you for a long time, and you’ve done a lot of really, nasty things, but...I _just…_ _”_ Kyle muttered, trying to come up with _something_ that didn’t sound vulnerable. Like it or not, his last big confrontation with Cartman had left a sinking feeling in his stomach, and things kept getting weirder and worse. “I wouldn’t have expected it from you...three months ago...or whatever. I don’t know what your fucking pro—”

“I’m sorry.”

Kyle blinked, nearly pulling his car to the side of the road. “You’re, _what?”_

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

“You _can_ walk home, from here, just so you know.”

Cartman sighed loudly, body shaking, as he stared into the window. “I’m _sorry_.”

“Sorry for what?” Kyle hesitated.

“I dunno,” the other boy sniffled, hand pressed up against his mouth, partially muffling his speech. “Lots of things.”

Kyle slowed down, pulling his car aside, in front of a closed restaurant. Most things were closed by that time. “What _happened_ to you?”

“What the fuck?” Cartman sniffled, still concealing his face, but obviously wiping away a few tears. _“Nothing.”_

“Cartman, you’re _crying_ ,” Kyle narrowed his eyes, trying to avoid the rising feeling of anxiety building in his chest. “You’ve cried more in the past month, than I’ve seen in the past, like, three y—”

“—you can’t take me home, okay?”

Kyle bit his lip, tentatively reaching over, and resting his hand on Cartman’s shoulder. “Uh...why not?”

“Just take me to Stark’s Pond,” Cartman’s shoulder shook against Kyle’s touch.

“Cartman, it’s too…” Kyle watched the way the boy's shoulders fell, and he shrunk into the corner of his car. He _hated_ that it made his heart pang sympathetically, wanting nothing more than to drop him off and run; yet he ran his hand up and down the other boy’s arm, comforting him and not pulling away, despite the coldness emanating from his weakened body. Then, something in Kyle made him tentatively remove his hand from Cartman’s arm, and press his foot back onto the gas pedal, travelling back in the direction of Stark’s Pond.

It was a short, but silent, ride over, with Cartman keeping his body pressed into the sidedoor of Kyle’s car, and Kyle, face flushed, trying to focus on the road. His mother was probably freaking out; it had to be way past 10 PM by then, and she had no clue where her son was. He made a mental note to text her when they arrived.

Kyle pulled to the side of the road, Stark’s Pond, looming on in the distance. One of the advantages, he supposed, about living this far into buttfuck nowhere, was that there a sky full of stars, above the two. He sighed, nervously nudging Cartman in the arm.

“We’re here.”

Cartman rolled over, reaching for his stuff, and wearily clicking the door open, slipping out, into the dark. Kyle clicked his own door open, slamming it shut, and following Cartman into the field, that surrounded the pond.

“Cartman, you can’t camp here like this. I think you need a permit, and it’s freezing cold out here, so...just...” Kyle lectured, rolling his eyes. “Just tell me what happened.”

The other boy made his way over to a bench, overlooking the large pond, and Kyle reluctantly followed. The two sat, side by side, Cartman pulling his legs up to his chest, trying hard not to shiver. Kyle thought he hated Cartman when he was at his very most inconsiderate, belligerent, and most rude, but he hated seeing him in this state, in another way that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He was _pathetic_.

“What’s going on with you?” Kyle breathed. It had to have been at least the third time he’d asked, just that night, but curiosity kept getting the best of him.

“I can’t go back tonight,” Cartman grumbled, chin resting against his knees. “I can’t fucking go back there, Kyle.”

“But _why?”_

 _“Him,”_ the other boy stared into the distance, eyes focusing on something in the pond.

The indirect answers were irritating Kyle, but he went ahead and asked. _“Who?”_

“Billy,” Cartman said, rubbing his arms together. “I fucking _hate_ that guy.”

Kyle scoffed. _“Who?”_

“My mom’s boyfriend,” he snapped. “Probably my new _stepdad.”_

“For _real?"_  Kyle raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’d always wanted a dad.”

Cartman’s face darkened. “Yeah. A _dad_ . Not that fucking _asshole_ , and his fucking—”

“Ha! A _“dad”?_ _”_ Kyle scoffed, looking aside. The pond was still, but crickets chirped from a ways away, and he ignored the light buzzing from the phone in his pocket. “You think he’s an _asshole?_ Well, then now you finally know what it’s like to have a dad.”

“Fuck off,” Cartman sneered. “You’d suck your dad’s cock if you could.”

Kyle glared, head quickly turning in his direction. “What the hell are you talking about, _now?”_

“You’re going to law school,” Cartman looked down, tracing a finger, over his grass-stained jeans. “Just so you can be a big, fancy, Jew lawyer, like your dad.”

 _“Whatever,”_ Kyle rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“I know I wouldn’t.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, both staring down, never daring to try anything. It seemed like a waste to be out on a cold, but beautiful, starry night like that, with _Eric Cartman_ , but Kyle stayed in his place, taking in the scenery. It was a bit difficult, with the other boy, sitting next to him, a shivering mess, but he tried not to let his thoughts be dominated by Cartman again. Even if he _was_ sitting right next to him.

“So, that’s _it?_ _”_ Kyle asked. “You came back from Nebraska, and decided you hate me again because your mom’s boyfriend’s a dick?”

“I don’t hate you,” Cartman avoided his eyes.

“You’ve been nothing but fucking cold to me since you got back,” Kyle said, starting to build himself back up to a state of anger. “I help you with groceries, save you from hypothermia, oh, I rescued you from being _arrested…”_

“See what I mean, Kyle?” Cartman glared. “You only do nice things for credit.”

“I definitely don’t want _your_ fucking credit,” Kyle hissed.

“Why, then?” Cartman asked, picking up a stone from the ground, and tossing it sharply, into the pond. “Why would you ever do something nice for _me?”_

For once in his life, Kyle didn’t have a real answer. “...Because it’s the right thing to do?”

“Bullshit.”

They sat in silence, once more, and Kyle could hear his own heartbeat, nearly pumping his out of his chest. It was a _weird_ night, and their dynamic still felt somewhat _off_ _._ Someone had to fill the silence; fill the space that was building between them.

“...I _am_ sorry.”

Thankfully he didn’t have to when Cartman was surprisingly filling that space _for_ him. “For _what?”_

“I wasn’t trying to be a fucking dick, I was just…” Cartman wiped his tears away on his sleeve again. “I dunno.”

“So, you _don’t_ hate me?” Kyle raised an eyebrow.

“When did you get so sensitive, Kyle, Jesus _Christ.”_

“I _didn’t!”_ Kyle seethed. “Look, I can’t let you stay here alone. Or at all. You’re gonna fucking freeze to death.”

“Well, I can’t go home!”

Kyle scoffed. “Yeah, well, you can hate your stepdad—”

“—mom’s _boyfriend_.”

“—mom’s _boyfriend_ —all you want,” Kyle said, getting to his feet. “But you’re gonna have to get used to him.”

“It’s not _that.”_

Kyle thought back to the weird red light, his pitch black bedroom, the weird truck in the driveway, the cheap food that Cartman had still felt the need to _shoplift_ , the _phone charger_...it left a bad feeling deep in his gut, even if there was no real good reason as to _why_...it felt off. He knew Cartman had problems. Problems he'd been going to several therapists for, but...right now, he was in a _bad_ place. He looked down at the boy who he used to hate, used to fight with at every chance he got, used to challenge, and practically battle, and even with all those, stupid memories, he felt a pang of... _empathy,_ maybe. Whatever that feeling was, it had been his compass that entire night.

One thing was certain...he wasn’t abandoning him here...no matter _how_ much he thought he deserved it.

“Come on,” Kyle sighed. “Get up.”

Cartman looked up, in his direction. _“What?”_

“Um...look, just hurry up, okay?” he said. “I haven’t got all fucking night.”

The other boy reluctantly stood up, following Kyle back to his car. Kyle unlocked the Altima, and opened the back door instead, reaching for the soft green blanket his mother had given him, closing the door behind him.

 _“Here,”_ he said, turning over to Cartman, who was still clutching at his own arms for warmth. Kyle tried not to lock eyes with him, taking his bags away, and dropping them aside. He draped the blanket over his shivering shoulders, then wrapping it around his body. The other boy looked down at the blanket, clutching it in his hands. “Just... _here,_ um...your shivering is pathetic, so...try to warm up.”

Cartman’s body shook, but he seemed to be warming up, now. Kyle opened the passenger side, and the other boy climbed inside, sitting down, and pulling his legs up to the seat, to curl up into a ball. So dramatic. Kyle rolled his eyes, softly closing the door behind him. He picked up Cartman’s bags, and tossed them into the back seat, then made his way over to the driver’s sidedoor, climbing inside, and starting the car. He figured he could drive by the Cartmans’ house and coax him into going home from there...seeing that he deemed it safe, and all.

Kyle pulled out onto the road, watching Cartman writhe around, trying to find a comfortable position. As they passed by a streetlight, it shone over his face, illuminating the welt on his cheek, that looked more like a small bruise now. He hadn’t even _noticed_ it, back at the gas station. He’d been blinded by rage and pure annoyance, but seeing it now, sent shivers down his spine. Cartman looked tired and worn down, and just...something about that bruise...he was a sorry sight.

“Um…” Kyle choked out. “Cartman, you...you can just lie down in the backseat...if you want…”

“I’m okay.”

Kyle checked the time on the dashboard. 10:36 PM. “Just go lie down.”

Cartman crawled over the cupholders, bumping into Kyle on the way, who rolled his eyes, and prayed he didn’t get into a fucking car accident because Eric Cartman’s ass had been temporarily blocking his line of vision.

 _“Jesus,”_ Kyle muttered. He slowed to a stop, letting Cartman adjust himself into the backseat. Luckily Stark’s Pond was a little bit further out of town, and no other cars were around. Cartman shuffled around in the back, keeping the blanket wrapped around his body, facing away from Kyle, and resting his head against the cushioned seat.

“Don’t fall asleep back there,” Kyle glared. He lightly pressed his foot to the pedal and continued making the short drive back into South Park. The plan was to drive past Cartman’s house and check it out for himself, then drop him off. He tended to believe that Cartman overdramatized things, because he _did,_ but that bruise on his cheek loomed on his mind.

Kyle continued into the neighbourhood, carefully watching the other boy in his rearview mirror. His pathetic duffel bag and plastic gas station bag sat next to Kyle in the passenger seat. Kyle’s mom was probably calling the Marshs by then, to ask if their beloved son knew where his best friend had run off to, but he pushed it to the back of his mind.

Pulling up to the Cartmans’ at last, Kyle parked and observed the house. All the lights were off, and the truck was gone. The unexplainable sinking feeling in his gut disappeared, being replaced by a sensation of relief...which, of course, was also unexplainable. “Cartman, we’re here.”

Silence.

Kyle turned around. Cartman’s shivers had been replaced by soft, and relaxed breaths. He was curled up, in the corner, towards the driver’s side. Of _course_ _,_ he’d fallen asleep! It was the one thing Kyle had asked him _not_ to do. His cheeks lit up, and he rolled his eyes. The evening had started with Kyle getting a car, and it was ending with Eric Cartman, cuddled up in the back of it. Hopefully, the next time this happened, it was a _girl_ and not _Cartman._

He reached into the back, nudging Cartman’s shoulder. _“Hey,”_ he said. “Cartman, wake up.”

He was out like a light.

Kyle grumbled, crawling over the front seats, into the back. He tentatively sat up against Cartman’s legs and rubbed his arm. The sleeping boy’s big, wide doe eyes fluttered open, and he let out a huge yawn, tiredly yanking the blanket back over his head.

 _“No,”_ Kyle said, pulling the blanket away. “I told you not to fall asleep.”

Cartman refused to comply, pulling the blanket closer. Kyle scoffed. What a big baby. He was a big freaking baby, and he had Kyle doing things for him _all_ over again. He opened the back door on his side, climbing out, and walking to the passenger side to get Cartman’s bags for him. He peeked into the gas station bag, shaking his head again. Fucking ramen noodles. He wasn’t going to keep off the weight he’d lost if he kept eating like shit. Kyle didn’t get it, but as weird as the ramen noodles were, the phone charger was the real mystery item.

Kyle walked around to Cartman’s side, carefully opening his door. He had fallen back asleep. Or he was faking. “Hey, fatass. We’re here. Wake up.”

_“No.”_

“God, you’re obnoxious,” Kyle grumbled, reaching into the back, and tentatively pushing the other boy, to try getting him up.

Cartman smiled, eyes closed, pulling the blanket back up to his face. _“_ _Carry me.”_

 _“No,”_ Kyle’s cheeks reddened, with a glare. “I’m not _carrying_ you to bed, just 'cause you’re too lazy to walk.”

Cartman sat up straight, leaning his head up against his seat, with a sigh. He rubbed his eyes, officially waking up, and staring forward, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “You can stop apologizing…I don’t really care about the shoplifting thing anymore.”

“No,” Cartman mumbled. “I meant about, um...our fight, or whatever.”

He raised an eyebrow. “At Clyde’s party?”

“Yeah. Or whatever,” his cheeks looked a little flushed. “I didn’t realize you were so heartbroken, so…”

“I’m not,” Kyle snapped. “If you don’t wanna be my fucking friend, I couldn’t care less. We’ve never really been friends anyway.”

“Right,” Cartman said, slipping out of the car, blanket still draped over his arms. He closed the door behind him. “We’ve never been _friends.”_

Kyle walked him up to the front door. “Uh...do you have a key?”

“She never locks it anyway,” Cartman mumbled, taking his bags from Kyle. He passed the blanket back over to Kyle, the two standing face to face. Kyle eyed him cautiously, and Cartman's smile, turned into a smirk, as he reached over to pinch his cheek. “Thank-you, _Kyyy-le.”_ He slipped back into his house, in a hurry, leaving the other boy standing in disbelief on his doorstep.

“Stupid fucking fatass,” Kyle grumbled, cheeks on fire. “What a _weirdo.”_

 

* * *

 

On Monday, Kyle was back to sitting across from Stan at lunch, not wanting to ever discuss that goddamned bonfire and Bebe putting him on blast again...luckily Stan and Kenny had both gotten pretty drunk later on, and memories of that night hadn’t really seemed to stick to either’s brain.

And then it happened.

Eric Cartman dropped his bag down, next to Kyle’s and took his usual seat beside him. Kyle narrowed his eyes at him, noticing his bruise had disappeared by then. “What are you—”

“‘Sup, Jew-boy?”

Kyle recognized that teasing, cheeky, disposition. Yeah, it was hard to believe, that just two nights ago, he’d been crying in his car, and sleeping in the backseat, cuddled up with one of Kyle’s old blankets…and that before that, the two had been in the middle of a severe personal cold snap…

Kyle narrowed his eyes. “Hey... _fatass…”_

Cartman grinned, cheekily, turning away to rifle through his lunch bag. Kyle felt his body loosen up, and he a sense of relief flowed through his body. And it wasn’t because he liked, or wanted, Cartman around or anything. No  _way._

It was just nice to finally get some warmer weather.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recap: Cartman tried to run away for mysterious reasons and then stole some ramen noodles from a gas-station and Kyle saved his ass and also took him home, but not because he cares about him. Just FYI (more than that happened, but people have been questioning me about the ramen noodles).
> 
> part of this chapter is lowkey inspired by this [art](http://sleepyeule.tumblr.com/post/173368249066/i-gave-erics-random-scarf-an-origin-story-h-a-im) by @sleepyeule, because I love that concept a lot (and their art is actually inspired by [THE mirror-verse fanfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5368325/chapters/12398471) which I ALSO love a lot) (holy shit suddenly the lore got real)
> 
> also thanks to @kymanifesto for giving ya girl a random S/O on tumblr (;
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

Kyle wasn’t so sure the old “time goes by when you’re having fun” idiom was all that true, because time also went by pretty damn quickly when you had university essay applications looming on the horizon.

True, it was only late September, and his Columbia application was due January, but Kyle wanted to submit it beforehand, for a better chance of arranging an interview time. Still, it was hard to find time to truly focus on it, over the past few weeks. Between all his AP classes, debate team, tutoring and student council...and rescuing _idiots_...Kyle didn’t have a whole lot of time on his hands...and a very distracted mind.

So, on another Friday night, when he should have been out with friends, Kyle was stuck inside, sitting at his desk, answering essay questions on a Google doc. He had been through several drafts already, and felt stuck...every single other applicant was probably doing the same damn AP schedule and after-school activity routine as him. Kyle really wanted to be accepted on his own merit, but he hoped that having a sorta-cousin with ties to Columbia, might work in his favour. It was all he thought about day and night by now...were there other things he could be doing to spice-up his application? _Should_ he have listened to Stan, and tried-out for football? Kyle wasn’t a big fan of football and he didn’t have the build of a football player, either...but neither did Stan, and Kyle could definitely tackle. He was _toned._ But, that was Stan’s thing. And at one point, Cartman’s thing, too.

Kyle groaned, crumpling up the piece of looseleaf, he’d been doodling on to procrastinate. Fuck Eric Cartman, for residing in his brain like that. Besides Columbia, that was the only other thing on his mind: Eric _fucking_ Cartman. Why was he so irresponsible? Why did he insist on doing such erratic things? Why hadn’t he matured past the point of running away from home, at the slightest inconvenience? Sure, his mother’s boyfriend was probably a dick...but was it worth running away over? That bruise on his cheek _was_ a little bit suspicious...Kyle knew Liane was an irresponsible parent at the very _least,_ but he hadn’t known her to ever physically punish her son.

But Cartman was fine. There was nothing else to indicate he was in any trouble. The ramen noodles were probably just his new choice of junk food. Shoplifting was probably just out of stupidity and convenience. After all, he’d faulted right back to teasing Kyle, right after the incident...literally, after being dropped off. These were all signs of classic Eric Cartman behaviour.

Although that truck and his apology left Kyle a bit on edge...he just chalked it all up to the weird energy that night. He had been in a different headspace. Cartman was trying to get himself out of the shoplifting incident. All of Kyle’s questions had answers, that he told himself, made sense. It was important not to spend too much time thinking about Eric Cartman, most often. The guy just left Kyle with too much to think about. It was ridiculous that they could go from the cold shoulder, followed by two fights, to making-up with zero verbal communication, to... _somewhat,_ back to normal. There really was no-such-thing as _normal,_ when it came to Kyle and his relationship with Cartman…

There was a knock on his door. Kyle looked up, as the door twisted open.

“Hey, sweetie,” said Sheila, holding a large mug. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure,” Kyle nodded, tossing his crumpled looseleaf into the metal trash can under his desk. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing, bubbe,” she said, carefully placing the mug onto his desk. “I just wanted to check-up on you...see how you’re doing…”

As it turned out, his mother hadn’t been that angry about Kyle’s lack of communication, that one Friday night...he’d made-up some bullshit story about dropping off a few drunk friends, and his phone dying. Kyle hated lying to Sheila...they’d always maintained a fairly honest relationship, but he didn’t want to get into the semantics of rescuing Eric Cartman, twice, and the gas station, _and_ Stark’s Pond...there was too much to tell, and none of it really made sense. None of it was _worth_ explaining.

Kyle sighed. “I’m not getting into Columbia.”

Sheila gasped. “Kyle! Now, why would you say something like that?”

“Nothing about me makes me... _stand out_ ,” he pushed his long bangs out of his face, rubbing his forehead. “You have to stand out to get into an Ivy League school, and _nothing_ about me stands out.”

“That is just not true!”

“Yes, it is…” Kyle groaned. “AP classes and extracurriculars just aren’t enough to get into a good school, nowadays. They want someone with a...more interesting background.”

“You could talk about being Jewish.”

“I don’t think being Jewish qualifies as diversity in New York,” Kyle grumbled. Being a Jew only qualified as “diversity” if you lived in small-town Colorado.

“You’re very intelligent, Kyle,” she said, crossing her legs, leaning up against his bed. “You’ll think of something.”

“Really?”

“Yes, of course,” Sheila smiled. “You’re _my_ special boy.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, hiding a grin. “I’m not _that_ special.”

“Yes you are, bubbe, you’ll be _fine,”_ she reached over, ruffling his hair. “I promise.”

Kyle grinned, cracking his fingers and leaning back in his chair. It was true. He _was_ very smart, and he’d had a seriously _insane_ life so far. Was getting accepted into Columbia really that far of a stretch?

Sheila got up, heading over to the other side of the room. _“Oh!_ Your friends are here, Kyle.”

Stan, Kenny and Cartman trailed into the room, and Kyle automatically slammed his laptop shut.

“Hi, Mrs. Broflovski!” Stan called, as she headed downstairs. When Sheila was out of earshot, he raised an eyebrow. “What are you hiding on there? _Porn?”_

 _“No,”_ Kyle glared. He didn’t know why he’d slammed his laptop shut, actually. It was just kind of an automatic reaction, the moment he noticed _Cartman_ trailing in behind Stan and Kenny. He didn’t need him all up in his business, creeping on his laptop, which he just _knew_ Cartman would do. He was obsessed with Kyle, after all.

 _“I_ think you’re a special boy _too,_ Kyle,” Kenny snickered. “Nice hair.”

“Fuck off,” said Kyle, but he reached for his ushanka, from beside his Macbook, pulling it over his messy curls. His friends were so lucky to have straighter hair. His eyes drifted over to Cartman, who was leaned up against his wall, in a baggy sweatshirt. He smirked when they locked eyes, and Kyle scoffed, looking away. “So, did you guys come here for a reason, or are you just gonna keep bullying me?”

“Aw, so bullying’s off the table?” Kenny laughed, closing the door behind them. “Relax, Broflovski. You still mad at Bebe?”

 _“No,”_ Kyle glared. After the party incident, he hadn’t heard anything from Bebe. He figured she’d either been too embarrassed to apologize, or too drunk to remember, or too _Bebe_ to realize she’d done something subtly nasty and apologize. Either way, if the girls were snickering and talking about Kyle, he hadn’t noticed. He’d had his nose buried in schoolwork for the last week or so anyway. “That was weeks ago.”

“Not _weeks,_ ago,” Stan commented. He sat propped up, on Kyle’s bed, tossing a football up and down. “Clyde and Bebe only broke-up a few days ago, so…”

“Ooh, _Kyle,”_ Kenny teased, nudging him where he still sat, in his chair. “Now’s your chance!”

Cartman laughed nervously. “What?”

“Stop it,” Kyle said, swatting his friends away. “I don’t like Bebe like that.”

Cartman grinned.

“Well, you don’t have to like _Bebe,”_ Kenny raised his brows up and down. “Ever since that shit she said at the bonfire came out, all the girls have been wanting to fuck with Kyle.”

 _“Really?”_ Kyle blinked. “For real?”

“Yeah.”

“Stan, really?” asked Kyle, turning to his best friend. “Kenny’s full of _shit,_ hey?”

“No, um, they really do,” said Stan, passing the ball over to Kenny. He and Kyle hadn’t talked about their little fight or the bonfire. It didn’t seem to matter to either. “Maybe if you put down a book for five fucking minutes, you’d know that.”

Kyle scoffed. “Why?”

“Well, now that everyone thinks you’re hard to get...it just makes them want you more,” Kenny shrugged. “You should be _thanking_ Bebe.”

“You’re full of shit,” Kyle rolled his eyes, scribbling on a piece of looseleaf.

“Yeah, you’re full of shit, Kenny,” Cartman sneered. “Besides, Kyle’d rather have sex with a book, than a girl. You know, get it, cause he’s always studying, cause Kyle’s a...a gay loser, with no life. _Right,_ Kyle?”

Kenny shrugged, passing the ball back to Stan. “Look, I’m just tell—”

 _“Right,_ Kyle?” asked Cartman, snickering again at his own, really lame joke. Kyle turned around in his chair, giving the other boy a weird look. Cartman always looked like he was hiding a secret.

“Sure, whatever,” said Kyle. “So, are you guys here for some reason, or…?”

“Yeah,” said Stan. “We’re gonna go play football. Come on.”

“Can’t,” Kyle replied. “I have my Columbia application to w—”

 _“Come on, Kyle,”_ Kenny said, grabbing him by the arm. “This is like, my one night off this week, and you have all week to fill out your Colombia application.”

“I think you mean Columbia.”

(Yes, Kyle could literally _hear_ the phonetic difference between “Columbia” and “Colombia”! He is just _that_ pretentious.)

“Whatever,” Kenny sighed. “We’re going! Are you coming, or what?”

Kyle looked between his friends...at Stan, sitting on the bed, trying to balance a football on his index finger, Kenny, typing away on his phone, and of course, Cartman, who sat, resting up against his wall, staring at Kyle’s posters. Cartman had huge, expressive eyes and soft, round cheeks. It was weird, because he’d been such an obese child, and he was chubby into his teens, but he was far from “unattractive”. Kinda cute, even. For a boy, that was. Ugh. What a nasty thing to think.

Kyle hated it.

_“Kyle?”_

“Yeah, sure,” said Kyle, rising abruptly. “We can go, Stan.”

“Okay, great,” said Stan, tossing the ball over to Kyle. “You wanna change?”

“No, I’m good,” Kyle mumbled. He was still wearing a newer pair of jeans from school earlier but didn’t feel like going to the effort of putting on another pair of pants. “Let’s just go.”

Stan and Kenny headed in the direction of the door, the other two trailing after.

There was a tap at Kyle’s shoulder. He spun around, coming face to face with Cartman. He hated that they were practically at eye-level...Kyle was definitely a few inches taller. Cartman smiled, raising his brows. “I have a gift for you, Jew-boy.”

Kyle smirked. “Oh, really? Did you un-shoplift for me?”

“Kinda,” he said, reaching into his pocket for one $20 and another $10 bill. About enough for his stolen charger, ramen, and the remaining grocery money. “Here.”

Kyle snatched the money, counting through it. “You keep this shit up, and I’m gonna start charging interest.”

“So you’re saying there’s gonna be a next time?” Cartman grinned, cheekily.

 _“No,”_ said Kyle. “There better not be.”

“Not if I can help it,” he smirked, baring his teeth. “‘Cause I could definitely use a new XBOX, and I know your Jewass parents are _loaded…”_

“We’re not _loaded,”_ Kyle glared. “You’re just dirt-fucking poor.”

“Exactly, so…” Cartman grinned, tugging at one of the flaps on his hat. “Pay for me?”

“You’re obnoxious,” Kyle rolled his eyes, trailing down the stairs with him. He didn’t know how he and Cartman could routinely fight, have weirdly... _intimate_ ...moments, and then _somehow_ go right back to their typical banter.

“You sure were quick to take my money this time, Kyle,” Cartman sneered. “Not really defying the stereotypes, are we?”

“Watch it, fatass,” Kyle warned. “I should have received this over a week ago.”

He shrugged. “Like you said, Kyle, I’m “dirt-fucking poor”. It was...kinda hard to get.”

Kyle considered asking what that meant, but they’d reached the living room, and Stan and Kenny were already slipping out into the front yard. He noticed his father, sitting in his study, across the hall, typing furiously into his iMac, with a messy stack of paper beside him. Gerald looked up, the moment he realized Kyle was staring.

“Oh, hey, Kyle,” he brightened. “Where are you off to?”

“We’re gonna go to the football field...to play...and stuff,” Kyle hesitated. His father looked frazzled, to say the least.

“Oh! Well isn’t that nice! Boy do _I_ wish, I could just run away and play with my little friends!” he laughed, maliciously. “Well, have fun while it fucking lasts! Have fun while it fucking lasts, Kyle, cause if you wanna be a _big-shot lawyer, just like dad—”_

“—Ahem, Gerald,” Sheila approached, carrying a basket of laundry. She smiled sweetly at Kyle, nervously closing the door behind him. “Your father’s just a little stressed at the moment, Kyle. Don’t take it personally. I know you work hard.”

Kyle blinked. Honestly, rude comments from his father were nothing new, but he usually didn’t lash out at Kyle for absolutely no reason at all. _Usually._

“Jesus Christ, Kyle, what’d you do to your dad?”

He turned around. Of course, _Cartman_ had to have been there to see that. “Ugh. Whatever. He’s just in a shit mood.”

“Almost makes you not wanna become a lawyer, huh?” asked Cartman, as the two made their way outside. He watched Kyle attentively, waiting for a reaction. “Huh? _Huh,_ Kyle?”

Kyle stuffed his hands in his pockets, as they made their way to Stan’s mom’s car. “Sometimes,” he grumbled. “I guess.”

The two sat in the back of the car and Cartman annoyed Kyle, all the way there.

Finally, a little bit of normalcy.

 

* * *

 

One week later, took them into October. South Park was about to be littered with pumpkins and cheesy autumn decor. Early fall reminded Kyle of when the four were kids, and Liane would decorate the outside of she and Cartman’s house, with her arsenal of Halloween decorations, so it made him a little bit sad, when he pulled up their house that fall evening and noticed the chipping paint around the windowsills, instead of festivity. Not that Ms. Cartman had decorated in years, but her house looked like it was aching to be cared for, in any way at all.

“Hey, what the fuck, _Kenny?!”_ Cartman glared, as he approached Kyle’s car. “I called shotgun!”

“That was over text, retard,” Kenny snickered, arm leaning out of Kyle’s window. He insisted on travelling with the window down because it looked “cool”. “Rules don’t apply.”

“Yes they do!” he whined. “Kyle, tell Kenny to sit in the back!”

Kyle shook his head, checking the time. 6:22 PM. Stan’s football game was starting soon in less than 40 minutes, and they still needed to find seats and get food. “Can we just hurry this up, please?”

“Just go sit in the backseat,” said Kenny, sinking further into the passenger seat.

 _“No!_ I called shotgun. That’s the _rules,_ Kenny!” Cartman pouted. “If I have to go to Stan’s faggy football game, I wanna sit ne—I wanna sit shotgun!”

“Oh my _god,_ who _cares?”_ Kyle sighed.

_“Kenny!”_

“Alright, alright,” Kenny said, sliding out of his seat, and clicking open the side door. “I didn’t know it meant so much to you.”

Once he was out of earshot, Kyle noticed Kenny whisper something to Cartman, who looked taken aback, cheeks flushed, and replied with a big, _“NO!”_

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Cartman, get in the fucking passenger seat already.”

Cartman obeyed, getting in, next to Kyle, slamming the door and clicking his seatbelt into place.

“There,” said Kyle, starting the engine back up, and pressing his foot to the gas pedal. “Was it worth all the fucking whining?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Kyle focused on the road ahead. Friday night football games were something they had yet to attend all together. Stan had been benched a few weeks ago, when Kyle had run into him at the car dealership—slight sprain—and the other days, Kenny had had work, Kyle had studying to do, and Cartman and Stan weren’t _those_ kind of friends. So now that they had a free night, even with the season coming to an end soon, Stan had invited all three to see him play while they had a chance. Football didn’t really interest Kyle, but he had no problem taking a night off from homework to support Stan. “Glad it was worth it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kyle could see Cartman’s small smile, but he thought nothing of it.

_“HEY!”_

_“Knock it off!”_ Kyle snapped at Cartman. “Why are you _yelling,_ while I’m trying to drive? You want us to get in a fucking accident?”

“He kicked my seat!” he said, jabbing a thumb back at Kenny, who was sitting in the backseat with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Why are you kicking his seat?” scoffed Kyle.

 _“He_ knows why.” Kyle caught a glimpse of Kenny’s smirk, in his rearview mirror.

Cartman crossed his arms, face a dull shade of red.

“You guys are acting like fucking children,” Kyle grumbled, relieved that they would be at school soon.

“Chill out, Broflovski,” said Kenny, leaning forward. “We’re just having a little bit of fun. Right, Cartman?”

Cartman stayed silent, all the way there.

Freaking weirdos.

When the three pulled up, they got out of Kyle’s car, him locking the doors with the remote start on his keys. The parking lot was packed, and they’d shown up just in time to not have to park away from school. The three headed off towards the field, Kyle hoping they’d be able to reserve some good seats, while someone else got snacks from the canteen. When they reached the field, Kenny started heading off towards the building, but Kyle grabbed him by the arm.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “We have to save our spots.”

“I wanna go say ‘hi’ to Stan.”

“Okay…” said Kyle, narrowing his eyes. “Now what do you _really_ wanna do?”

Kenny grinned. “See the cheerleaders.”

“No.”

“Come _on,_ Kyle!” Kenny said, grabbing at the sleeve of Kyle’s coat. He was glad he’d remembered to wear his scarf that night because even in a coat, ushanka and gloves, it was a chilly night. “You know half the cheerleaders wanna get fucked by you now, right?”

“Uh, no,” Cartman interjected. “I’m not getting dragged to Stan’s gay football game, _and_ getting bad seats, too.”

“Then go save our spots for us Cartman,” Kenny tugged harder on Kyle’s coat.

 _“Kyyyle,”_ Cartman whined, latching onto his arm. Kyle looked over at the other boy, never understanding how a 17-year-old boy could give him _puppy-dog-eyes_ and do it with so little shame. _“Come on…_ I wanna get good seats…”

Kyle tore away from Kenny’s grip. “We’ll save you a spot.” He took note of the other boy’s amused look of shock, trying his best to ignore it. So _what,_ if a few cheerleaders were into him? Kenny was probably full of shit, anyway.

Kenny looked between the two, with a shrug. “Go get food... _I’ll_ save our spots.” He headed off towards the bleachers, shaking his head to himself, with a grin.

“That was weird,” said Kyle, heading off in the direction of the canteen. They usually sold junk food...stuff like hot-dogs, big pretzels, cotton candy, bags of chips, the whole shebang. Kyle ate pretty decently for a boy his age, but pigging out, while simultaneously watching others burn massive calories, was an American custom.

“Aren’t you gonna buy me something, Kyle?” asked Cartman with a cheeky grin, still latched onto his arm. Kyle hadn’t even noticed until he’d said something, and his cheeks reddened. Yeah, Eric Cartman clutching onto his arm in public like his freaking _girlfriend_ or something, was _just_ what Kyle needed.

“God, what is _with_ you?” asked Kyle, pulling his arm away, then mumbling. “A few weeks ago, I couldn’t get a fucking _nod,_ from you, and now you’re clinging to me like, uh...uh...god, I dunno…”

Cartman shrugged, with a smirk. “Just buy me some food.”

“Why do you keep asking me for shit?” Kyle shook his head. “Use your own money, fatass.”

“I don’t _have_ money, _Jew-boy._ Remember?”

“You don’t deserve anything, anyway. You’ve been really bad lately,” Kyle grumbled. “Shoplifting…and stuff...”

“That’s only one thing, Kyle,” Cartman grinned, as they stepped into line.

“Oh, you wanted more?” asked Kyle. “How about, your entire childhood?”

Cartman’s face darkened. “Never mind.”

The two stood in line for a few minutes, neither saying a thing to the other. Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have said it...but Kyle had no idea he’d have taken that comment so seriously. Cartman had been a disastrous child, but there were lots of reasons for that, far beyond his control...Liane had not been a great parent, and Kyle knew firsthand, the type of childhood memories that Eric had under his belt, were _not_ of the happy-go-lucky variety...even if he had done some nasty things to him, so had he, and Cartman was a different person now…sort of.

He was being sucked back into it again, wasn’t he?

“Hey, um,” said Kyle, staring at his shoes. “What do you want?”

“Huh?” Cartman blinked.

“From the canteen, fatass,” Kyle coughed. “What do you wanna eat?”

His face brightened. _“Really?!”_

“Don’t make me regret this,” Kyle said, kicking a rock near his shoe. “Yeah. I’ll get you something to eat.”

“Thank-you, Kyle,” he cooed. Kyle slouched back over, reaching into his backpack, for his wallet. He didn’t know which he disliked more: cold-shoulder Cartman, or... _flirty_ Cartman. It was like he had disappeared for the summer, only to reemerge a bigger annoyance.

“What do you wanna eat?”

“A pretzel,” he said, rubbing his arms together for warmth.

“Great.”

When they reached the front of the line, Kyle ordered two pretzels, and a hot-dog for Kenny, doling out $9 in change, for their food. The canteen was run by the student council and he knew for a fact that they overcharged, but they had to fund prom _somehow._ Homecoming had been a bust, and Kyle only knew _that_ much, because Stan and Wendy had gone and complained about the poor music and decorations. One of the sophomores running the stand, handed him the food, in a brown paper bag. “Thanks,” said Kyle, grabbing it, and heading back in the direction of the field.

Beside him, Kyle noticed Cartman shivering slightly. He’d only had worn that same, faded, maroon hoodie again, his head, face and neck unprotected from the chilly wind. God, when was he going to start dressing appropriately? When was he going to stop needing to be babysat by Kyle? He wouldn’t be around for him forever.

“Are you cold?” asked Kyle.

“Freezing,” said Cartman, pulling his hoodie closer around his neck. “I hate this fucking town. It’s so cold.”

“Yeah, that’s why I dressed for the weather,” Kyle grumbled, still trudging along, beside him, into the football field. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” said Cartman, blowing heat into his hands, and rubbing them together. “I’m not a pussy about the cold like _Stan_ is.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, pulling Cartman aside, by the arm. He was surprised by how much fabric he was grabbing at, rather than skin. Cartman wasn’t small, but the hoodie was _way_ too big for him. They stood off to the side, Kyle bringing him, to the side of the bleachers, where they kept away from others. He tossed his bags to the ground. “Come on.”

“What?” asked Cartman.

 _“Here,”_ Kyle unravelled his scarf, leaning in closer to Cartman. God, it was beginning to feel like a flashback to that one night, back at Stark’s Pond, but Kyle couldn’t just let him _freeze_ to death, at this football game. He wrapped his scarf, once, around the other boy’s neck, being gentle, as he adjusted it. Cartman’s hands lightly fell to Kyle’s concealed elbows, as the other boy loosely tied it over his chest. “Now, you can’t complain about the weather anymore.”

Cartman looked into Kyle’s eyes, surprising him. Kyle turned bright red; Cartman should _not_ have been making eye contact with him, while they stood _thatclose._ He let go of Kyle’s elbows, arms falling to his sides.

“Thank-you, Kyle.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Kyle hid his reddened cheeks, reaching for his bag and their food, from the ground. “Now, we’ve gotta find Kenny.”

The two moved through the crowd, Kyle’s eyes scanning over the crowd for his friend. He immediately spotted Kenny, who was standing up and waving his arms around like a freak. He switched from waving to making lewd gestures a second later. Kyle chortled, pulling Cartman’s arm, as they made their way to their spots, near the top row.

“You know, the principal is just down there, right,” said Kyle, taking a seat next to Kenny. He reached into their bag of food, passing Kenny his hot-dog, as Cartman slipped in next to him. “He probably saw that.”

“Good,” said Kenny, unwrapping his food. “You’re just in time. The players are getting into position, or whatever.”

Yeah, football was really only ever just Stan’s thing. The South Park Elementary third grade football team hadn’t really had much of an impact on Kyle or Kenny.

“Sweet,” said Kyle. He looked down into the field, for his best friend, recognizing him, by the number ‘19’ on his jersey. He stood up, loudly shouting, _“GO STAN!!!”_

Stan looked up, waving at Kyle from below. It was kinda funny that Stan, aka Mr. Meatless-Monday-I-love-animals-GO-VEGAN!-or-GO-HOME! enjoyed such a violent sport. Then again, Stan’s compassion often ended at animals.

Kyle sat back down, wishing the bleachers had actual seats, instead of cold metal benches. He stretched his legs out.

Cartman tugged at his coat. “Kyle, where’s my food?”

“Calm down, Cartman,” said Kyle, reaching back down for the bag. He pulled out a hot pretzel, passing it to the _fatass_ beside him, and then taking the other one for himself. “You didn’t even thank me.”

“Yes, I did!”

“No, you thanked me for the scarf.”

“Yeah, I was gonna say,” Kenny interjected. “Nice scarf, Cartman.”

“It was a gift from Kyle,” he grinned, teasingly batting his eyelashes.

 _“Oooh,”_ Kenny snickered.

Kyle shook his head, picking at his food. _“Jesus Christ.”_

“Anyway,” said Kenny, standing up. “Now that you’re back, I can finally go to the washroom. Save my spot.”

Kyle and Cartman sat in silence for a few moments, both finishing up their food. When the two were done, he took their wrappers, crushing them and tossing them back into the brown bag. Kyle slipped his gloves back on. He was really glad he’d brought a good pair because it was starting to get chillier. His mind kept racing that night though. Kyle had no fucking _idea_ what he was doing, turning down opportunities to talk to cute cheerleaders, and taking—no, _babysitting_ —Cartman and getting him food instead.

“Is this the scarf from when we were kids?”

Kyle was leaned over, but he turned his head. “What?”

“This scarf,” said Cartman, playing with the fabric. “Is this the one from when we used to play _Game of Thrones,_ or whatever. The one you wrapped around your hat.”

Kyle blinked. It had been years…“Yeah,” he slowly grinned. “Yeah, it’s the same one…”

“You still have it?” Cartman snickered.

“Yeah...apparently,” said Kyle, looking down. “That was back in fourth grade...I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I remember our battle-cry too.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, with a half smile. “What, the “I Swear”, lyrics?”

“It was _your_ idea,” Cartman smirked, stuffing his hands into the large pocket of his hoodie.

 _“Your_ idea,” Kyle insisted. “Only _you_ would come up with something that gay.” Whether that was in the literal sense or not, neither knew.

“It was _your_ idea,” Cartman gloated. “I’d remember.”

Kyle hated that Cartman was able to make him smile, even after how obnoxious he’d been lately...both in regards to the cold shoulder and the return to just _regular_ obnoxiousness. Maybe he was just glad to have that dynamic back in his life because he’d missed it all summer...or because he was realizing how soon he’d be packing up and leaving South Park, for maybe, forever. Forever, that was, if everything worked out. And Cartman was a constant in his life, that Kyle maybe didn’t like to admit he kinda, sorta, in the smallest way possible, liked.

Cartman was hunched over, hands still protected in the pocket of his overly large hoodie. Kyle wished he’d told him to get his jacket back at his house, but it wasn’t _his_ job to babysit Eric Cartman. He’d have to learn this life-lesson the hard way.

But, then again...

Kyle moved in closer. “Hey, um...are you still cold?”

Cartman sat back up. “Huh?”

“Are you, um…” Kyle shrugged. “Are you still cold?”

“Duh,” he said. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”

Kyle leaned down, reaching into the depths of his backpack, for a pair of mittens and hat. He always carried extra, as per Sheila’s request. “You should have come prepared.”

“Why come prepared when I have you?”

“‘Cause, just like you said a few weeks ago,” Kyle mumbled, pulling out a pair of gloves and a matching knit green hat. “I’m not your daddy. _Dad._ Whatever.” When he moved back upwards, Kyle took note of Cartman’s half-lidded smile, and he felt his stomach flip-flop. God, was he ever a fucking _weirdo._

“That better not be another stupid Jew hat,” said Cartman, as Kyle passed him the gloves. He reached over, tugging on one of the flaps of Kyle’s ushanka.

“This is called an _ushanka,_ you actual fucking moron,” Kyle grumbled, fixing his hat. “And it’s actually _Russian,_ not _Jewish.”_

“Whatever,” Cartman snickered, slipping the gloves on.

Kyle passed him the hat. “Here.”

“I can’t put it on myself, Kyle,” he scoffed dramatically.

“Oh, really?” Kyle glared. “And why’s _that?”_

“Hands...too cold…” he shivered, also dramatically. “Can’t...do it…”

Kyle shook his head, leaning in closer to Cartman, their legs crossing over each other. Kyle reached in, gently pulling the knit fabric over his soft, slightly-reddish, brown hair. He had never noticed how soft, thick and shiny, Cartman’s hair was, falling into long bangs, over his face. “Doesn’t it annoy you, that your hair gets all in your face like that?” Kyle’s soft curls always peeked out from under his hat, framing his face, and sometimes obstructing his _own_ eyes, but it was just something to say, considering they were face-to-face and it was a bit... _intense._

“Doesn’t it annoy you being a ginger?”

“Yeah,” Kyle narrowed his eyes. “Hence the fucking hat.”

“You’re not really doing a good job hiding it, Kyle,” Cartman said, twisting a loose strand of Kyle’s hair, around his gloved finger.

“God, you’re obnoxious tonight,” Kyle blushed, swatting his hand away. “Knock it off.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Kyle turned around, facing Kenny, who had a mixed look of shock and amusement, plastered over his face.

“Nope,” said Kyle, distancing himself from Cartman. “Uh, welcome back.”

“What’d I miss?”

_“Nothing.”_

Kenny narrowed his eyes. “So...nothing happened, the _entire_ time I left?”

“Not a thing,” Kyle bit his lip.

“But...the score changed…”

 _“Oh,”_ Kyle blinked. “Yeah. Oh, yeah, right, the score changed.”

“Aren’t you paying attention?” Kenny asked, taking his seat in between the two. “We’re ahead by a few points now.”

“Yeah,” said Kyle, cheeks feeling weirdly hot. “Good for us.”

Kenny just grinned, shaking his head.

 

* * *

 

South Park High had actually defeated Fairplay this time, and Kyle knew that Stan would be out, celebrating with Wendy and his teammates. Still, though, he, Kenny, and Cartman waited outside in the parking lot that night, to congratulate him. Kyle sat, leaned up against the back of his car, arms resting on the trunk. He texted Sheila a quick update, just to let her know they’d all be heading back soon, so Kenny could go to his overnight shift and Cartman could be dropped off at home. He took in the night sky, appreciating the chilly air for once, as it was windless and set him at ease.

Kenny stood, a ways away, talking to Cartman, who was laughing at something he’d said. Cartman still had Kyle’s turquoise scarf, wrapped around his neck, and he played with the ends of it, twisting it around his gloved fingers. Kyle shook his head, once more, not understanding Cartman’s lack of responsibility, but he was _so_ freaking careless...not dressing properly for the weather...never having money on him...Kyle wondered what he did when he _wasn’t_ there for him.

Cartman looked over in his direction, shooting him a soft smile, that twisted into a smirk and batted eyelashes. Kyle raised a brow, as Cartman looked away again. Such a weirdo. Kenny reached into his pocket for a lighter, and two cigarettes. Kyle hated that Stan and Kenny were both inheriting their parents’ drinking and smoking habits, and he hated it, even more, to see _Cartman_ smoking a cigarette. He pinched it between his fingers, like chopsticks, taking a long drag, and then focusing back on his conversation with Kenny. Kyle hadn’t remembered Cartman being a smoker before his return…

“Kyle! _Kyle!”_

He didn’t even have to look up to know it was Stan approaching. “Hey!” said Kyle standing up straight. “What’s up?”

Stan laughed. “What do you mean, what’s up? We won.”

“Oh, right,” Kyle nodded, faking a grin. “Yeah, sweet, we’re really proud of you, dude.”

“What’s going on?” asked Stan, clutching his helmet at his side. He was sweaty, despite the chilly air. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We just got out of the game,” said Kyle. “We were waiting to congratulate you.”

“Thanks, dude,” said Stan, grinning. “I’ve gotta get going though. Football party.”

“Does there have to be a party every weekend?”

“Jesus Christ, Kyle, lighten up,” Stan nudged him. “You can come, y’know. It’s at Jason’s house. You know, the one out near the new development.”

“I’ll pass,” said Kyle. “I’m done with parties for a while.”

“I’m telling you, dude, you shouldn’t be so upset about Bebe’s bonfire,” Kenny approached, with Cartman in tow, cigarette pinched between his fingers. “You’re a fucking stud, now.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “You guys better put those out before getting in my fucking car,” he said. “I couldn’t care less about Bebe’s party. I just don’t wanna go to another party. Those things are a headache.”

“Damn, Kyle, usually you never shut up,” Kenny teased. “Now, we can’t even get you to go to a fucking party.”

“You can’t go either, moron,” Kyle jabbed a finger at his friend. “You have work in less than an hour.”

“God, don’t remind me,” Kenny sighed, taking an extra long drag on his cigarette.

“Cigarettes stay out of my fucking car,” said Kyle, as Kenny crushed the remaining bit of his into the ground. “That means you too, fatass. Get rid of it.”

Cartman scoffed but did the same as Kenny.

“Well, I’d better get going,” said Stan, backing away, with a small wave. “See you guys soon.”

“Bye, Stan!” Kyle shouted. It would have been nice to hang out with Stan, he supposed, but really it would just be another loud football party. Kyle unlocked the doors, to let the others in, as he climbed behind the wheel, starting up the engine. It was pretty dark out by then, but a quick drive, even with two drop-offs.

_“SHOTGUN!”_

“Aw, what the fuck?!” Kenny glared. “You’re getting dropped off first, Cartman!”

He snickered, taking the seat next to Kyle’s. “I don’t care.”

Kyle backed up his car, pulling out of the parking space, and quickly onto the road. They’d been lucky to get such a good spot that night.

“I’m gonna sleep so well tonight,” said Cartman, leaning down in his chair. “I’m so full.”

“Full of shit, maybe,” Kyle mumbled. “All you had was a fucking pretzel, Cartman.”

“Yeah, we’re not gonna stop calling you “fatass”, for that,” said Kenny, from the backseat. “That’s a permanent nickname, dude.”

“Real mature, guys,” yawned Cartman, turning his head in Kyle’s direction, and resting it against the seat. Kyle glanced over, and as they passed another car, the light shone over him, turning Cartman’s half-lidded eyes into a translucent shade of sky blue, then back to azure again. Kyle focused back on the road.

A few minutes later, they reached Casa Cartman, and Kyle nudged him. “Come on, get up. I’m not doing a repeat of your last drop-off.”

Cartman sighed, slipping off the gloves, then reaching up for his hat. He passed them back to Kyle, then grabbing around his neck, to unravel the scarf. “I’m gonna miss this scarf.”

“You can have it,” Kyle said almost automatically.

“Why?” asked Cartman, finger twisting around one side of the fabric.

Kyle shrugged. “You know, uh. It’s old and I don’t even like it, so…”

Cartman beamed, then fake coughing, and switching up his expression. “Sweet.”

“Okay, now get out,” Kyle hesitated. “We have to get going.”

Cartman clicked open his side door, hiding his face with a wave. “Bye.”

Kyle watched Cartman make his way to the front door of his house, slipping in through the front door, and shutting it quickly behind him. He was so focused, he barely even noticed Kenny crawl over the cupholders, to get into the passenger seat, accidentally bumping into his head in the process.

_“Jesus Christ.”_

“Should’ve let me ride shotgun, then,” said Kenny, leaning back, as Kyle pulled the car back onto the road. He shook his head. “That was so fucking weird, Kyle.”

“What are you talking about?” Kyle raised an eyebrow.

“Cartman’s hoodie…” Kenny drawled. “It’s called a hoodie for a reason…”

“Yeah, I know what a hoodie is,” Kyle shrugged. “Your point?”

Kenny scoffed, face twisting into a smirk. “He was totally faking being cold, dude...he could have just pulled over his hood.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “I mean...he’s an idiot, Kenny, he probably forgot he even had a hoodie on.”

“Nah, man,” said Kenny, leaning back in his seat. “Cartman’s not even half as dumb as he wants you to think, and I think you know that, too.”

“So what?” Kyle shook his head. “I hated that scarf, anyway. He can keep it. I really don’t care.”

“Weren’t you guys at each other’s throats, like, just last week?”

“We’re always at each other’s throats,” Kyle replied, eyes narrowing and focusing on the road ahead. “I dunno. That’s just how it is.”

“That’s weird.”

“Well, he’s a whiny pain-in-the-ass,” Kyle insisted. “It’s just easier to give in, than fight. Besides, I wasn’t gonna let him freeze.”

“Right turn, up here,” said Kenny, watching as the mall and attached Target came into view. “And, yeah, sure, dude. Whatever you say.”

Kyle turned into the mall parking lot, pulling up in front of the Target. He shifted into his parking gear, with a sigh. “Have a good shift, dude.”

“Fat chance, but thanks!” Kenny laughed. He closed the side door, bag slung over his shoulder, reaching into his pocket for a lighter and another cigarette. Kyle studied Kenny for a moment, wondering what he had been trying to imply about him and Cartman, but things like that were best left alone. He and Cartman had a weird enough “friendship” as is, and when he fixated on it for too long, it made him question himself and get frustrated and left him with too many unanswered questions. It was best not to think about Eric Cartman, at all.

Kyle pressed his foot against the pedal, pulling out of the parking lot, and making his way back home.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recap: kenny, kyle and cartman went to stan's football game, and cartman was a whiny brat bc it was cold outside, so kyle gave him his scarf, but it's not because he cares about his well-being whatsoever. 
> 
> I'm literally _aching_ to post the chapter after this...kyle and cartman are feelin' some kinda way...
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

Kyle Broflovski had been a big part of Eric Cartman’s life, for as long as he could remember. When you lived in a town that small, you tended to stick it out with your old friends for the long haul, and while maybe they weren’t “friends” in the typical sense, they were _something,_ and if anything Kyle was there for him the most.

Eric and Kenny were casual friends. The two tended to spend more independent time with each other, way back into the third grade, but of the group, they could often relate the most...Stan, and especially Kyle’s family, had significantly much more money than that of the other two, and that was something he could understand about Kenny. Stan was someone Eric never really connected with either. If he was being honest, often he just kind of saw Stan as an obstacle in getting closer to Kyle…

And so, there he was again, holed up in his bedroom, thinkin’ ‘bout _Kyle,_ and his piercing green eyes, and soft red curls that framed his face, and his naturally angsty disposition...for someone he’d claimed to hate for the past nine or so years, he didn’t really hate him all _that_ much; was rather fixated on him instead. Probably _too_ much, considering the way his stomach twisted and flip-flopped the way that it did, whenever he saw Kyle hanging-out with a _girl._

Fuck, no. If Eric had gotten anything out of years of therapy, it was that his problems only got worse when he fixated too hard on them. Unfortunately for him (and unfortunately for him, _only),_ he had zero control over the inner workings of the universe. He’d come to realize that over the summer, and he’d had to accept it, just like he had to accept that there were certain resources his coked out mother refused to take care of anymore. Kyle’s scarf hung draped, over the backboard of his bed. He remembered, just last week, the moment Kyle leaned in, gently pulling his hat over his head, and how hot his cheeks had felt, and how he hoped Kyle hadn’t noticed.

_Shudder._

Eric tiptoed out of bed, twisting his bedroom door open. Maybe he was in the clear now, to go down and make “dinner”. If he could evade the comments from Bill, or fucking “Billy”, as Liane referred to him, he would do so at all costs. Eric slipped back into his room, crouching under his bed in the dark, for a package of Sapporo Ichiban, when he heard that grating voice again.

_“I’m so fuckin’ mad, Liane.”_

Eric paused, slipping away from his secret stash of 20 cent dinners, and made his way back over to the door, keeping it open a crack.

 _“Oh, no,”_ his mother cooed. _“Sweetie, what’s wrong?”_

His stomach twisted, hearing his mother refer to him with the same name she’d used to call _him._ The two were in the living room, but their voices travelled upstairs and made the hair on the back of Eric’s neck stand right up.

 _“This bullshit with Howard is gonna drive me over the edge,”_ the voice growled, and he could hear the loud stomping of feet. _“And I swear to fucking god, Liane, I’m_ this _close to finding the fucking bastard who’s responsible for this. I swear to fucking god, he’s gonna regr—”_

 _“Billy, please, calm down,”_ Liane hushed. _“Eric is getting ready for bed, and—”_

_“Oh, yeah? That fat piece of shit is back?”_

Eric clenched his fist. Years of therapy had taught him how to better control his anger, but mostly, like the majority of his instinctive reactions, it came from a place of fear.

Liane giggled. _“Now, don’t say that...he’s only a_ little _chubby…”_

 _“Angel, let’s get outta this dump,_ ” he said, and it elicited more disgusting little giggles from his mother. _“Come on...I’ve gotta group down, a few towns from here...we can make bonus tonight, I was thinkin’...”_

Again, he felt sick to his stomach. God, it had been... _hours,_ since lunch that day, since sitting next to Kyle and mooching french fries off his cafeteria tray, and he’d been aching for a meal, and Bill was leaving, but just...knowing from a deeply rooted feeling, whatever he and his mommy were about to do...made him completely lose his appetite. It was 10 PM and he knew, for a fact, that Stan was probably out holding hands and cuddling with Wendy Testaburger, and Kenny was avoiding his own family bullshit at work, and Kyle was probably sitting in his bedroom, typing away into that shiny laptop, preparing to leave forever and ever…

Being the odd one out for him was nothing new, whether it was self-reinforced or at the hands of fate. Kyle was the hero, who was going to take on the whole world, and he was sitting in his room, contemplating whether he should have a package of ramen for dinner or a fucking nap.

 _“Alright...but you know how Eric gets when I leave him for too long…”_ she said, and he could hear Bill’s scoff. _“Just let me make him some tea, and we’ll be out of here, okay?”_

_“He’s 17, Liane...needs to learn at some point, to stop being a little faggot and rely on his mama for everything.”_

Rely on the crack whore, who was _never_ around? For _what,_ exactly? What the fuck else was he supposed to do in terms of support, when he was losing the one real supportive element in his life, to an Ivy League school? All he had _left,_ was Liane.

 _“Trust me, Bill,”_ Liane giggled. _“It’s easier this way…”_

Eric quietly closed his door, climbing back into bed, kicking off his old jeans under the covers, and throwing them aside onto the floor. He knew what was in that tea. Maybe she’d think he was asleep and leave him alone. Eric poked his head out, from under the covers and reached for Kyle’s scarf from the headboard, pulling it close and wrapping it around his neck and ears. It smelled like Kyle and the spearmint gum he chewed, and it made Eric’s chest tighten and his stomach twist into a thousand knots. It reminded him of sleeping in the back of his new car, wrapped around a blanket, and being cared for, for once. It reminded him of the way opposing headlights would flash over Kyle’s eyes, bringing out the dazzling green and those little specks of hazel in the centre. It reminded him of Kyle and the way those eyes dazzled on their _own_ , whenever he spoke of Columbia and New York City and his beautiful future. But whatever.

The belief that he’d _always_ have Kyle, was a delusion that he’d cling onto whether it killed him or not.

 

* * *

 

Kyle hated having a new car.

Whoa. Whoops. He wasn’t supposed to think things like that, not even in the privacy of his own thoughts. It sounded spoiled and jerkish and a whole lot of other adjectives synonymous with “asshole-ish”, but it was more so that he didn’t hate having a _car..._ he hated that it made him the obligatory new chauffeur of his friend group.

It was nearing the end of October, and Stan’s last football game was that night. They’d all missed the game the week before, but made it to Stan’s birthday party right afterwards. He wanted them to all be there for his final game. Just like the previous time, he’d driven over to Kenny’s and then Cartman’s house, to pick them up. Cartman was still a freaking _weirdo_ about riding shotgun, and Kenny let him do it every time—never without a raised brow and a few chortles—but they finally sat back up in the bleachers, cheering on the South Park Cows. Again, Kyle wondered, why the high school would follow in the footsteps of the elementary school and use a _cow_ as their mascot and team name, but Stan blew him off whenever he made fun of them.

Also, he didn’t really have room to comment, when he’d soon be trying out for the basketball team again.

But there he sat, right in-between Kenny and Cartman, fingers drumming against his can of 7-Up, as they were huddled back up in the bleachers, watching the match between South Park and North Park High. Kyle thought it was really stupid that every other goddamn small town in their vicinity was either a “North” or a “Middle” Park.

“They’re not gonna win this time.”

Kenny sat next to Kyle, arms leaning up against his crouched knees. He was nursing a Dr. Pepper.

“Oh?” Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Have you _seen_ those guys from North Park?” Kenny took a huge swig and then crushed his empty soda can. “Fucking huge. And they’re up by a few points.”

“Kenny’s right,” said Cartman leaning towards Kyle. “Stan’s a pussy. They’re gonna lose.”

“You guys are terrible friends.”

“You wanna make this interesting, Kyle?” Cartman teased.

 _“No,”_ Kyle said, shaking his head, and leaning back, against the bleachers. An empty row behind them meant he had the freedom to rest his head. “No more bets. I’m done.”

Cartman turned around, eyes scanning over Kyle. He had Kyle’s scarf wrapped around his neck, and his cheeks were flushed from the cool weather. Halloween would be approaching soon. Kyle reached his arms around, back behind his head, in a stretch, watching as the other boy grinned in his direction.

“What do you want?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

“Nothing, Kyle, Jesus Christ,” Cartman glared, turning back around, and resting up against the bench. “Conceited, much?”

“Don’t call _me_ “conceited”, fatass,” Kyle scoffed. “You’re the most self-centred person here.”

“You could learn a thing or two from me, you know, Kyle,” he said, with a scoff.

“Oh, really?” asked Kyle.

“Yeah!” he rolled his eyes. “You know, you _could_ afford to focus a little more of your attention on me.”

“I already spend too much time on you,” Kyle grumbled. “And money, too.”

“That’s how I know you care,” he beamed, affectionately pinching Kyle’s cheek.

Kenny rolled his eyes.

“Stop that!’ Kyle reddened, as he swatted Cartman away. But before the other boy turned his face back around, Kyle noticed something dark on the other side of his cheek. “Wait, what is that?”

Cartman turned away. “Don’t make it weird, Kyle.”

Kyle sighed. _“I’m_ not the one making it weird, now let me see the—”

_“Hey, Kyle!”_

He and Cartman turned around at the same time, in the direction of two girls heading back down the bleachers. Heidi and Nichole grinned in his direction, decked head-to-toe, out in their cheerleading uniforms and scarves. Sometimes, living in Colorado, warmth took priority over fashion, but the two still looked...well, pretty hot.

“Uh... _hey…”_ Kyle blinked. Two exes at once? Awkward. Even if neither break-up had ended badly, both being _ancient_ relationships, it was pretty obvious the two had probably compared footnotes.

“We’re getting dinner after the game,” said Nichole, exchanging a cheeky glance with Heidi. “You wanna come?”

“Oh, uh…” Kyle blanked.

“Yeah, he’d love to!” Kenny chimed in.

“What the _fuck,_ Kenny?” Cartman hissed. “We’re all going to Denny’s after this.”

“Fuck Denny’s,” he smirked. _“Kyle’s free.”_

The girls waited, talking quietly amongst themselves. A few giggles escaping from both.

“Kyle...two hot girls, wanna buy you dinner,” Kenny whispered. “Don’t be a fucking dumbass, dude.”

“You-you can’t, though,” Cartman laughed nervously. “You’re coming to Denny’s with us. _Right,_ Kyle?”

Kyle scoffed. “God, will you _relax?”_ Cartman tugged at his arm again, and it was beginning to feel like a rerun. He was so weird and clingy lately. Like, more than usual.

“But you said, that after the game, Stan was gonna come with us, and we’d—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Cartman. I’m going to Denny’s, don’t worry,” he shook his head. “You’re not about to be stranded, for a ride.” Once again, it sucked being the new squad chauffeur.

Kenny rolled his eyes.

“Sorry, uh, maybe another time,” Kyle cleared his throat, facing in Nichole and Heidi’s direction. “I already have plans later.”

The two girls gave each other a look and then dissolved into giggles.

“No problem,” Nichole grinned. “See ya ‘round.”

Kenny punched Kyle in the shoulder.

_“HEY!”_

“Dude, you’re such a fucking idiot,” Kenny laughed. “Didn’t I fucking tell you? _All_ the cheerleaders. You could have anyone you _want_ Kyle, that’s like a dream come true, dude, and you’re gonna fuck around and say ‘no’?”

Kyle shrugged uncomfortably. “I dunno, I mean, we have plans.” He accidentally locked eyes with Cartman, watching as the other boy had a soft smile spread across his face from cheek to cheek. God, he was... _something else…_

“I’ll _never_ get you,” said Kenny, grinning, and peering back down at his phone. “I mean, I’ll never get _either_ of you, but _especially_ you.”

Kyle didn’t need anyone to “get” him. One person already did and that person “got” him maybe _too_ well, and he had become so self-aware of it over the years, that it conflicted him in many ways.

It was just so fucking weird that person was Cartman.

 

* * *

 

“We were so close, dude,” said Stan, over-enthusiastically, and nearly knocking over his drink. “So _fucking_ close.”

“You were down 12 points,” Kenny said pointedly, not bothering to swallow his food before speaking.

“We could have made it up,” Stan insisted. “My moron uncle had, like, a hundred bucks waged on that game, and I’m never gonna hear the end of it, now that we lost.”

“Yeah, but that’s his own fault for being a fucking idiot,” said Kyle. Cartman sat to the right of him, in their booth at Denny’s, facing the window.

“You know how my family is,” Stan rolled his eyes. He had barely touched his veggie burger, swapping out his appetite for anger. He’d opted out of going immediately to the post-game party with Wendy, and decided to celebrate his last game of the year with his closest friends, but Kyle was starting to get irate. Stan’s negativity _drained_ him. “They do _stupid shit_ like this all the time, and then somehow _I_ get _sucked up into it.”_

Ha! Kyle could never relate.

“Stan, could you quit your _bitching,_ already?” snapped Cartman. “Jesus Christ, you’ve been going on for like, an hour.”

“We’ve only _been_ here for 45 minutes, fatass,” Kyle retorted.

“Oh, _really,_ Kyle?” he asked, turning his head back around. “Did you _time_ it?”

“Why would I have _timed_ that?”

“So, you’re saying you have no proof.”

“You want _proof?_ Fine. Let me go find the _receipt_ I got, from when we picked up _gas,_ an hour ago, and I’ll—”

 _“Hey,”_ Kenny cleared his throat. “How about everyone chills the fuck out? You don’t have to be assholes all the time you know, you can like. Shut it down for a minute.”

Kyle scoffed, looking back at Cartman. “I’m not an asshole, h—”

 _“—he is,”_ said Stan and Kenny, in unison. Kenny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we know. You had an option out of this, dude.”

“What do you mean?” asked Stan, finally picking up his food.

“I didn’t tell you?” Kenny smirked. “Kyle has _groupies.”_

Kyle glared. “No, I don’t. Shut-up, Kenny.”

“What happened?” grinned Stan.

“Well,” Kenny leaned in, with a cheeky grin. “We were watching the game, and Kyle and Cartman are flirting—”

_“AY!”_

_“NO!”_

“—and Heidi and Nichole walk up, and invite Broflovski out to dinner, and get a load of this shit.”

“What?”

“He fucking says _‘no’.”_

Stan gazed at Kyle in amusement. “Dude, you’re such a fucking idiot!”

“No, I’m not, Stan,” Kyle expressed. “Why would I go hang out with two of my exes at once? I’m not a fucking masochist.”

“You get along with _all_ your exes!” Stan laughed. “You were probably getting a second chance!”

“Maybe _two_ second chances,” Kenny narrowed his eyes with a grin, nudging Stan, who snickered. _“At once.”_

 _“I_ was the one who ended both relationships,” Kyle scoffed. “And, _dude...”_

“Kyle, you are so fucking oblivious,” Stan chortled. “I mean, _two_ cheerleaders ask you out, and you said _‘no’?”_

Kyle shook his head. “Dude, isn’t Nichole still dating Token?”

“Nope,” Stan shrugged. “They broke-up right after Bebe and Clyde. I mean, think about it, dude. You and I could go on double dates, and go—”

“Fuck off, guys, Kyle doesn’t care about his fucking exes, _okay?”_ Cartman snapped, suddenly interjecting himself into the conversation. “Jesus Christ, just leave him alone.”

 _“Yeah,”_ glared Kyle. It was kinda weird that Cartman was suddenly so pressed, but he wasn’t about to reject the gesture. “You’re making this into a bigger thing than it actually is.”

“Because you’re the luckiest guy in the entire fucking school, and you’re still choosing to hang out with us, instead!” Kenny laughed, eyes briefly locking with Cartman. “You know, dude, like... go get some _pussy…”_

Cartman scoffed. “Not everything is about pussy, _Kenny._ Kyle is better than that. He has to study, to become a lawyer. _Right,_ Kyle?”

“Yeah,” Kyle agreed. “And I have basketball tryouts on Tuesday, debate team, student gov, my Columbia essay, all of my AP courses to focus on…”

“Yeah,” Cartman agreed. Kyle took a look at the boy beside him, whose eyes were lit up with weirdly intense passion. He was sitting with his right cheek facing away from him, and Kyle wondered if he did that on purpose, so Kyle wouldn’t see whatever new bruise he was hiding.

But it was better not to think too hard about Eric Cartman.

“See?” asked Kyle. “Even _Cartman_ gets it.”

“Yeah...I bet he does,” said Kenny. Silence washed over the entire table, Stan clearing his throat, and finishing his burger, will Cartman peered back out the window.

Kyle shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Well, if Stan is finally done with his fucking burger, can we get going?”

Stan laughed lightly. “Kyle, you’re not _seriously_ mad at us, are you?” he asked. “I mean, we’re just kidding about this shit, dude. I get it.”

“Get _what?”_

“You don’t wanna date,” Stan shrugged. “And that’s fine. You’re busy with Columbia and whatever, and you don’t have time for it.”

“Or...he _likes_ someone _else.”_

Kyle’s whole body froze, and he had no idea why.

 _“What?”_ he narrowed his eyes.

“Dude!” Stan brightened. “You do, what the fuck?!”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, you totally do!” Stan pointed. “You’ve been so weird lately, that’s why, right? Tell us who she is!”

“I don’t like anyone!” Kyle glared, swatting his friends off.

“The more you insist you don’t, the less we believe you,” Kenny smirked.

“Fuck off!” Kyle said, face burning. “I don’t like anyone, okay?!”

Kenny snickered. “You totally do dude, otherwise you wouldn’t be so fucking insistent you _don’t.”_

“Yeah, Kyle, come on, we’re your best friends, j—”

“God, _shut the fuck up_ already,” Cartman glared, banging a fist against the table. “Stop obsessing over Kyle’s love-life, it’s fucking nasty.”

 _“Yeah,”_ Kyle agreed. Cartman stayed sat beside him, head resting in his hands, face pointing down to the table. “It’s really not that deep.”

Stan and Kenny exchanged a look, the two then rising from their booth. Kyle didn’t like their shared looks. He just _knew_ they were thinking about him and probably talking about him when he wasn’t around, and it pissed him off.

“Well, I should be getting to work,” Kenny announced.

“Yeah, and Wendy’ll be pissed if I ditch this football party, so…”

“Oh, come on, guys,” Kyle glared. “You rag on me, all night, and then get pissed off, when I finally stand-up for myself?”

Stan and Kenny exchanged another glance, Kenny chortling to himself.

“We’re just teasing you, dude…” he shrugged. “It’s not a big deal…and, I mean, I have work in like, 20 minutes.”

“Right,” Kyle hesitated, slipping out of the booth himself, Cartman in tow. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Kyle,” Stan insisted. “You know we’re just fucking around with you.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I know.”

“Yeah, Kyle,” Kenny snickered. “Whenever you wanna tell us about your secret crush, we’ll be here for you, dude.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kyle narrowed his eyes. “I don’t have a “secret crush”.”

Cartman shuffled along beside him, hands stuffed in his pockets, as they made their way up to the hostess, to collect their bills. And Kyle noticed the way Cartman fished through his jeans, for extra change and took in the legitimate concern spread out across his face, and considered maybe paying for him again, and not because he cared, but because it was painful watching him like this. But Cartman grinned cheekily, satisfied with himself for having enough change to pay for his own dinner, and it was kinda touching, but also kinda sad, and Kyle felt something he literally couldn’t explain and didn’t understand. What was it about Eric Cartman, that made Kyle feel such weird, unexplainable things?

Stan nudged his arm.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You okay?”

_“Huh.”_

“Kyle? Are you alright, dude?”

“I dunno, Stan,” he answered, eyes still lingering on Cartman. _“Probably.”_

 

* * *

 

“Come on, Kyle, _please?”_

Stan clutched onto Kyle’s seat, from his position in the back of his car. Cartman was really dead-set on getting to ride shotgun, which Kyle honestly didn’t mind, although he found it weird. They had already dropped a miserable, work-loathing Kenny off at Target, and now Kyle was finishing up the whole carpool routine.

“Seriously, dude? We just went to your own party, last week. You want me to go to _another_ football party?”

“Last week doesn’t count, because Wendy hosted,” he insisted. “You’ve only been to _one_ football party.”

“Yeah, I recall,” Kyle grumbled. “And we all know how _that_ turned out.”

Cartman rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Kyle, but when did I _ask_ you to drunk-fight me at some gay fucking football party?”

“You’re _always_ asking for a fight.”

_“No, I’m not.”_

“You’re asking for one _right now.”_

“Kyle, I’m seriously so gon—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Stan raised his hands up in protest. “Just...promise you’re coming to the Halloween party, next week? It’s at Bebe’s.”

“That sounds like yet another terrible idea, Stan.”

“Oh, come on! Bebe’s really fucking nice, dude,” Stan insisted. “She was just drunk and said some stupid shit.”

 _“Seriously,_ Kyle?” Cartman pitched in. “You’re not going to the Halloween party? That’s fucking pathetic.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. Maybe they were right. When had he turned into such a negative person? “Alright, alright, fine. When is it?”

“It’s on Halloween, that’s why it’s called a Halloween party, Kyle.”

“Don’t start with me, fatboy,” Kyle warned, as they pulled up to Token’s mansion. “Okay, Stan, we’re here.”

“Thanks, dude,” he said, patting Kyle on the shoulder, and grabbing his bag. “See you, Monday.”

 _“Drink responsibly!”_ Kyle shouted out the window, as he watched Stan make a dash for the entrance of Token’s place. He was instantly greeted by his teammates, and the door slammed behind him. Kyle shook his head. He had a gut feeling that Stan wasn’t planning on making any mature or rational decisions that night.

Cartman turned the radio to full volume.

 _“JESUS CHRIST!”_ Kyle shouted, turning it back down. “That scared the shit out of me, what the _fuck,_ Cartman?!”

“It’s not loud enough!”

“If you want attention, just fucking ask for it,” Kyle shook his head, pulling out of the car loop, in front of Token’s house. “Instead of destroying my poor eardrums.”

The boy beside him grinned, tugging at his favourite new scarf, i.e. Kyle’s _old_ favourite scarf. _“Kyyyyyle,_ can you change the station?”

“No,” said Kyle. “Why?”

“I don’t like this song.”

“Well, too bad, because I do.”

“You have terrible taste in music,” Cartman said, leaning over and changing the station to some 1980’s love ballad.

“What, are you trying to set an _atmosphere?”_ Kyle asked as they approached the end of the suburbs on the edge of town, approaching the highway.

_“Maybe.”_

“Well, you did it,” Kyle scoffed. “Now the atmosphere in here is just ‘Cartman’s shitty taste in music’.”

“That’s a really weak comeback,” he said, with an exhausted sigh, eyes half-lidded. Cartman leaned over, resting his head on Kyle’s shoulder. Kyle felt the warmth of his body, resting up against him, and it made his body tingle all over, and his stomach flop.

“What are you doing?” Kyle glared, cheeks hot and bright red. “Stop trying to distract me from driving, Cartman.”

“I’m just tired, Kyle, Jesus Christ,” he said, burying his face, into Kyle’s jacket. _“Let me rest.”_

“Tired? You haven’t _done_ anything today,” Kyle bit his lip, tempted to swat him off, but suddenly his hands were glued to the wheel.

“I went to school.”

“So did I.”

“Yeah, but I worked harder than you,” he said, grabbing at Kyle’s arm, and nuzzling closer. “So I’m more _sleepyyyyyyy.”_

“You’re full of shit, is what you are,” Kyle grumbled. He prayed to _God,_ that Cartman wasn’t close enough to hear his heartbeat, because it was practically throbbing out of his chest. Why was he so clingy and cuddly? Why did he insist on this kind of weird, fucked up behaviour? What was the _point_ of cuddling up to Kyle, in the privacy of his own car, if he wasn’t getting some kind of satisfaction from embarrassing him for it? Why did it cause Kyle’s stomach to clench up, and not in a _bad_ way?

Whatever.

Kyle kept his eyes on the road, and though he was _so fucking close_ to ripping Cartman a new one, he didn’t. He just changed the radio station and let the sounds of whiny, self-indulgent pop fill the car.

“I love this song,” said Cartman, shifting his head back up, still resting on Kyle’s shoulder, as he turned up the dial.

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“Thank-you, Kyle.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyle swallowed, and they turned onto the main road, leading into town. “Whatever, Cartman.”

He let Cartman stay rested up against his shoulder, all the way over to his house. Yeah, it was annoying, he was annoying, but there was no one around to see it. So if he wanted to be a weirdo, at least Kyle wouldn’t have to break down and explain to anyone that “that’s just how Cartman is”. Because, shit, he himself, didn’t get why Cartman behaved that way; first desperate to avoid and stay away from him, then the floodgates of affection breaking down, the minute he’d rescued him from a pathetic camping trip, weeks ago.

Sometimes with Cartman, it was just easier to give in. And Kyle didn’t do that often. But he figured this time...it just wasn’t worth the fight…he _did_ look really sleepy. His eyes blinked up at Kyle, and then shut, as he held his arm tighter. He was such a freaking baby, cuddling up to him and resting his head on his shoulder, and pretending to fall asleep. An idiot. A weirdly, affectionate, _idiot,_ who smelled like girly lavender shampoo and had eyes that turned translucent blue under the streetlights. Kyle had to remind himself to breathe.

The minute he pulled up to the side of Liane’s house, Cartman’s body shot back up so quickly, he nearly hit Kyle in the head.

“Jesus Christ, fatass, watch it!” Kyle snapped.

Cartman turned his head to the right, peering out the window. He sighed what sounded like a huge breath of relief, and leaned back into his seat.

Kyle eyed him suspiciously. “You...okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he nearly snapped.

“Where’s your mom?” asked Kyle. “Her car is gone.”

“Geez, Kyle, stalker much?” Cartman mumbled, turning in his direction. “She’s just out or something.”

The streetlight shone over his face, and that same bruise from earlier reared its ugly head. Kyle narrowed his eyes, moving in closer to look. “Cartman, what the fuck is that?”

The other boy slapped his hand over the bruised spot and turned away. “It’s nothing.”

“Look, I’m not trying to be invasive, and I really couldn’t—”

Cartman pulled at the door handle, slipping away from Kyle as fast as he could. He stepped out of the car, leaning in quickly and nervously. _“Bye.”_ The door slammed behind him, with such great force, it startled Kyle.

Like... _what?_ He hated it. Kyle _hated_ that kind of behaviour from him. God, usually Cartman was the first to go into way too many details about his life, or play the victim card, but recently all he did was either cling or avoid. The two extremes. Which made sense in some context; Cartman was the definition of “extreme”, but _goddamn_. Kyle wasn’t about to waste any more worry on him if he was planning to shrug it all off.

He waited for the bedroom light in Cartman’s room to turn on, and the pulled back onto the road.

 

* * *

 

Kyle already couldn’t sleep for several reasons, but his parents trying to fight in whispers (and failing poorly), definitely didn’t help his restless mind. He considered getting up and working on his essay questions, but he’d been out of breath that entire night, and couldn’t focus on any one task when his thoughts were racing this quickly. He tried silencing them, but Gerald and Sheila were right in the hallway, and not even a pillow over his head or tugging extra hard on his ushanka over the ears, helped.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand, because he couldn’t sleep anyway.

 

 **1:35 AM  
** _Hey, did you get a DD home?_

 

No response from Stan. He knew that often if Kenny had a ride home from work, into the earlier hours of the morning, they would pick Stan up, and make sure he made it home safe, but otherwise, Wendy was his main caretaker. Kyle wished Stan would seriously seek some help for his drinking problem. He had only turned 17 a week ago, and he was already falling into his father’s footsteps. Kyle flipped back to his other conversations. He rolled his eyes, and clicked onto a contact, he knew he’d regret texting.

 

_Make sure to ice that bru-_

 

There was a knock on Kyle’s door. He clicked his phone shut, and hid it under the covers, for no apparent reason at all.

“Kyle, bubbe? Are you awake?”

There was no point in lying to his mother, and pretending he was asleep. “Yeah, Mom, what’s up?”

“I hope your father and I weren’t too loud,” she said, tentatively stepping inside, and taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay,” said Kyle, sitting up. “I wasn’t asleep anyway.”

Sheila felt his forehead. “Hmm...no fever. Something troubling you, sweetie?”

Kyle looked back down at his phone, barely tucked back into the covers. He evaded her eyes. “Are you and dad okay?”

She laughed softly. “Of course, Kyle. I’m so sorry if your father’s been on edge, or testy with you lately. That’s what we were talking for, earlier.”

“What’s going on?”

“Your father, he’s just…” she bit her lip. “He’s got a really stressful case, that he’s working on right now, and it’s making him a little grumpy.”

Kyle recalled back to Gerald’s random outburst, a week or two ago. He really wished Cartman hadn’t seen that. “No kidding.”

“He loves you, Kyle, he does,” she said, kissing his cheek, before getting back up again to leave. “We just have to be patient with him. Being a lawyer is a very difficult career choice.”

Kyle hesitated. “Then am _I_ making the right choice?”

“You’re gonna make a _wonderful_ lawyer, Kyle,” she said, stepping into the doorframe. “Trust me.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Good night, bubbe. I love you.”

“Love you too,” he said, resting his head back up against his pillow. She quietly shut the door behind him, encapsulating the room in darkness. Kyle closed his eyes, and tried to focus on absolutely _anything,_ besides his father, his future, and Eric Cartman. Yeah, fuck Eric Cartman for being on his mind 24/7, it was to the extent he had nearly _texted_ him in a bought of worry and confusion, fuck Cartman for cuddling up to him, nuzzling his shoulder, his weird disposition, fuck _all_ of it. _That_ was the real reason he couldn’t sleep. Eric Cartman was a weirdo and he was getting right back into his head again. From now on, he was placing a full _boycott_ on anything Eric Cartman-related. That would show him. That would show _all_ of them; his life did not revolve around Cartman, and Cartman’s life didn’t revolved around Kyle, either.

And then came Halloween night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I'm settling this top!kyle drama rn, so to clarify: _Kyle is a top._ k thx for coming to my TED Talk.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (KSIOER;GOERJMG??? WTF. so ppl were like "wow this was a short chapter haha!" and i was like "??? wait huh this chapter is like 7k words" and then someone finally said "hey is part of this chapter missing?" and my dumb ass finally caught on and it turns out that AO3 won't let me add emojis to my chapters, so it just ended it where i added heart emojis?? yikes but anyway, here it is, as promised, in FULL, pls forgive me lol. anyway.)
> 
> **_kyle broflovski has big dick energy_**  
>     
> recap:^yeah see above, cartman is obviously jealous that kyle gets female attention and then they go out for dinner w/ stan and kenny and yeah it's not cause they like-like each other whatever (hint hint wink wonk) and here's halloween night...
> 
> also, for kyman week (!!!) i'm doing a collab story AU thing?? heeeee so stay tuned haha, it'll be posted here and tumblr on july 5th, as well as chapter 9
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

Basketball tryouts were the Tuesday before Halloween, and Kyle was certain he’d made the team again. Not because he was cocky, but because he _always_ made the team and he was good at what he liked and good at what he did. He wasn’t the tallest guy in school, but he was the second tallest of his friends, and toned, with perfect hand-eye coordination and determination. If Kyle Broflovski didn’t make the basketball team, there was something wrong with whatever coach called it, and the SPHS athletic department still hadn’t made that mistake yet.

So, right after tryouts, he celebrated by himself, heading to the mall to pick up a pair of sneakers he’d be eyeing for awhile. He needed new ones for the season, and they were finally on sale. Sure, Kyle had enough money to comfortably throw it around, but he wasn’t about to turn his nose away at a sale.

He considered stopping by Target to visit Kenny, who was working earlier than usual that evening; covering a shift for a coworker, so he could go to Bebe’s Halloween bash the next day, but Sheila would worry if he was out any later. He hadn’t even told her he was going to the mall. Kyle stepped out, into the cool fall evening, and when he did, he noticed something odd.

That same weird pickup truck, he’d seen weeks ago, was parked on the other side of the lot. He thought it was so odd that he’d picked it up right away, because it was dark and so far out of view, but didn’t he remember that gross truck from somewhere? He just couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

 _Whatever,_ Kyle decided, heading back to his car. He had a lot on his mind lately, and he wasn’t about to spend another second of his precious time, pondering why some random pickup truck set him on edge. Kyle was nearly finished with his Columbia essay questions, and still had to prepare for a debate tournament next month. He was an entire mess of nerves. It was probably just some form of projecting…

Or maybe just good intuition.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, Kyle, thank _god_ you’re finally home.”

The instant Kyle arrived home, after school the next day, he was greeted by his panicked mother.

“I told you I’d be home around seven. I had student gov,” said Kyle, hanging up his jacket. “What’s wrong?”

“Your brother is supposed to go trick-or-treating with his friends and we need to do a carpool,” said Sheila. She dug through the closet, for her fur-trimmed purple coat. It was chilly. “Dad still isn’t home and we need a car.”

“Isn’t Ike a little _old_ for trick-or-treating?” Kyle groaned. His “baby brother” was almost 12.

“Kyle, I seem to recall you and _your_ friends trick-or-treating, up until you turned 15!” Ike bounded downstairs, with a cheap devil mask, concealing his face. “Oh, Ikey, no _way_ are you wearing that out in public! Go change!”

“But, Mom, I need my car for Bebe’s pa—” Whoops. “Uh...Halloween _fundraiser,_ and—”

“Kyle, I grew-up in New Jersey. I know you’re going to a trashy Halloween party,” she said, touching up her lipstick. Sheila Broflovski was nothing if not put-together. “And you’re almost an adult. I’m fine with that. But you’ll just have to wait for Dad to come home.”

“That could take forever!” Kyle whined.

“Oh, _please,_ Kyle, don’t try that with me,” she said, pinching his cheek. “I know parties don’t start this early. Not the good ones, at least.”

He sighed in defeat, handing over his car keys to his mother. “Alright.”

“Thanks, bubbe,” she said, kissing Kyle’s cheek and definitely leaving lipstick behind. He made a mental note to wipe that away after she left. “Ike, let’s go!”

Ike ran back downstairs, a gaming headset around his neck.

“What type of costume is that?” Kyle raised an eyebrow.

“I’m a YouTube gamer.”

“What?”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Make good decisions, Kyle! And keep your phone on your at all times. Home by _one,_ at the latest,” Sheila warned, dragging Ike out the door. “Goodnight, sweetie!”

“Night, Mom!”

The door slammed behind them, and Kyle sighed. Not having his car that night wasn’t a really big deal, but he’d gotten so used to the privilege, that it kind of sucked _not_ having it. Kyle made his way into the kitchen, hoping to eat a quick dinner and then get some homework done before the party, until his phone buzzed.

 

 **FATASS** ****  
**7:08 PM  
** r u gonna pick me up or

 

That idiot thought he was getting a ride to a party, he could literally _walk_ to? As if.

 

 **7:09 PM  
** No???

 

 **FATASS  
** **7:09 PM  
** wtf why not

 

 **7:10 PM  
** Are your legs broken??? Walk to Bebe’s

 

 **FATASS  
** **7:10 PM  
** maybe they r broken kyle  
and that makes you abliest

 

What a freaking moron.

 

 **7:11 PM  
** *Ableist  
And no it doesn’t, because your legs still work

 

 **FATASS  
** **7:12 PM  
** pls

 

 **7:12 PM  
** No

 

 **FATASS  
** **7:12 PM  
** ok then if i get drunk and die walking back home its all ur fault

 

Kyle wanted to chuck his phone at the wall.

 

 **7:13 PM  
** Fine. Be ready for 8 I guess

 

 **FATASS  
** **7:13 PM  
** thxxx kyle <3

 

Eric Cartman was the only teenage boy Kyle knew who used fucking _heart emoticons_ in his text messages. And maybe Kenny sometimes. Ironically.

He shook his head, and stuffed his phone back in his pocket, heading upstairs to get ready for Bebe’s party. The girls were all gonna be decked out those cheap, sexy Halloween costumes from Spencer’s, despite the freezing weather. Luckily Kyle was a boy, so he could get away with just jeans, a black sweater, a little cologne and, of course, his army green ushanka. He didn’t hate his hair as much as he _used_ to, especially since letting it grow back out a bit longer. The weight settled it and loosened the tightness of his curls, getting hair in his eyes and peeking out from his ushanka; still, the hat was a real time saver, to just throw on and leave wearing.

Kyle did some homework to pass time, and then before he knew it, the front door to his house clicked open, and he headed downstairs. Gerald didn’t even bother to say ‘hi’ to Kyle, taking his briefcase to his office and slamming the door behind him.

Kyle knocked on his door, before opening it a crack.

 _“What,_ Kyle?”

“Um...Mom took Ike trick-or-treating with his carpool, so, uh, I need your car keys.”

He sighed dramatically. “What did we buy your that car for, if sh— okay, whatever, just come get the keys.”

Kyle tentatively stepped inside his office, retrieving the keys from where they sat on the edge of his desk. His father was already furiously typing into his iMac, and Kyle felt unsettled. His father had a _bad_ history online. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Goodnight, Kyle.”

He slipped out into the hallway, making his way back to the front entrance, to grab his jacket. It was burnt orange, with a complicated amount of pockets. One of those really expensive ones, his mother had gotten for him last Hanukkah as a gift. Kyle stuffed the keys into a pocket, slipping on his favourite pair of gloves, and closing the front door behind him. Time to go babysit the residential fatass.

It was just after 8 PM and soon the sun would be setting behind the clouds. Kyle could literally _see_ Cartman’s house from his driveway, so he felt silly driving over, but the car would come in handy later, for any drunk or stoned stragglers...as long as he was friends with Stan and Kenny, it was a safe bet.

Kyle started up his dad’s car, making the fucking _30 second_ drive to Eric Cartman’s house, and pulling up in front of his house. There were no Halloween decorations in their yard this year, but that had been the norm for quite some time now.

 

 **8:14 PM  
** I’m here

 

No reply.

Kyle drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, waiting for a flustered Eric Cartman to slip outside, probably in full drag of some pop singer for Halloween—because that would be the _Eric Cartman_ thing to do—but it didn’t happen.

 

 **8:19 PM  
** Fatass. I’m fucking here.

 

Nothing. He stared at that same flirty _“thxxx kyle <3” _ text, from over an hour ago. No ‘read’ receipts popped up near his messages.

 

 **8:21 PM  
** If you’re not out in 2 mins, I’m just leaving without you

 

 _Now,_ Kyle was getting _angry._ He asked him for a ride, and then had the _audacity_ to stand him up? Kyle went into his phone app, and aggressively clicked onto Cartman’s cellular number. The phone rang until it went to voicemail, and that prompted Kyle to slam his car door open, making his way around to the front door of Cartman’s house. He stomped up to the doorway, leaving a message at the tone.

“Hey fatass, when you text me begging for a ride, I fucking expect you to answer me,” he hissed. “Don’t pull this kinda shit behaviour with me. I’m doing you a fucking _favour.”_ He hung up, knowing there was no point in leaving such a message when he’d be confronting him a second later, but it at least helped to blow off some steam. Kyle pounded at the door, seeing red.

_No fucking answer._

He supposed it made sense...there was no car in parked in front, but then again, Cartman didn’t have his own car.

 _“Open up, Cartman!”_ he shouted. “I know you’re in there.”

There was a loud thud against the window, that he recognized as coming from indoors. _Ha!_ So the 17-year-old-toddler _was_ home, and he was throwing a hissy fit! Fucking _typical!_ Kyle recalled Cartman mentioning that Liane never locked the doors to their house anyway, so he turned the knob, and barged inside.

What he found was unsettling, to say the very least.

Cartman was chucking personal items from a few huge brown boxes, all around the room, against the wall and windows. His face was red and tear-stained and he was shouting profanities and choking and gasping for air.

 _“That motherfucking bitch!”_ he screamed, throwing a CD so hard at the wall by his TV set, that it snapped open, and sent the disc crashing to the floor. _“Hate her! Hate her! Fucking hate him! I’ll fucking kill him!”_

Kyle ran over. So, _not_ the overly enthused Cartman-in-drag he’d anticipated. “What the fuck are you _doing?!”_

He turned around, wiping a few tears away, and glaring in Kyle’s direction. _“GET OUT!”_

“NO!” Kyle tried grabbing him by the arms, before he could grab hold of a large bong, to throw against the wall. “Cartman, _STOP!”_

_“LEAVE ME ALONE!”_

_“NO!”_ Kyle grabbed him firmly by the shoulders, spinning his body around. Cartman was shaking violently with tears, streaming from those huge, expressive eyes, and his breathing was out of pace. Kyle leaned down, meeting him at eye-level, and wiping away a few lose tears from under his eyes, resting his firm hands back on his shivering shoulders. “What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?!”

“They’re getting _married,_ Kyle!”

 _“Who’s_ getting married?!”

“Who the fuck do you think, you stupid _fucking_ jew?!” he screamed. “My stupid whore mom and her fucking boyfriend!”

“Don’t call me a “stupid fucking jew”,” Kyle glared, his grip on Cartman’s shoulder getting tighter. “So, _what?!_ People get engaged all the time.”

“Kyle, he’s a fucking _monster!”_

“And what, suddenly _you’re_ an angel?!”

“They can’t get married, Kyle,” said Cartman, staring down at his feet. “She can’t do this to me. I can’t fucking do this.”

“You’ll survive,” Kyle insisted. He held eye contact with the other boy, whose eyes were practically bloodshot from crying so hard. His breaths remained shivering, unstable sniffles. “Take a deep breath, in and out...you’re gonna be alright, Cartman.”

“You don’t understand.”

“My dad’s a fucking asshole, too,” Kyle shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“He’s gonna fucking _kill_ me when he finds his stuff like this,” Cartman looked down.

Kyle peered around the room. He’d really made a huge mess of things. Cigarettes littered the floor, with broken CDs and a smashed up ashtray. “We can clean it up. Just go get a broom. It’s not that bad.”

Cartman swallowed, pulling away, to get a broom from the kitchen. “Okay.”

The two spent the next 20 minutes cleaning up broken plastic, glass and ashes, in complete and total silence and it was okay again.

Cartman washed his face and changed into a clean sweatshirt, before they left. On the way to the party, Kyle tentatively took a hand off the wheel, and rubbed Cartman’s shoulder. He nuzzled his head against his hand and Kyle’s stomach felt as if it were trapped full of butterflies.

Kyle parked a few houses away from Bebe’s, as the street was littered with cars. He pulled his hand away nervously, then turning back to Cartman. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Kyle,” Cartman said. _“Thanks.”_

The two casually made their way into the party, Kyle acting as if he wasn’t practically just cuddling up to Cartman in his dad’s fucking car.

As anticipated, most of the girls were dressed either sexy or cute, some opting to do group costumes. Kyle spotted Wendy, dressed as a character he couldn’t recognize and though she looked pretty, her costume wasn’t overly revealing.

“Hey,” he greeted her, Cartman in tow. “Where’s Stan?”

“He and Kenny are over there,” she said, pointing towards the couch, with an eye roll. “I think he’s already drunk.”

Kyle stepped away from Cartman, making his way towards Stan and Kenny, who were sharing a joint on the couch.

 _“Broflovski!”_ Kenny greeted. “What’s up, dude?”

“Uh, nothing,” he said, tugging at his jacket collar.

“You want?” he asked, offering over his joint.

“I have to drive,” Kyle muttered. “Listen, um, have you...seen or heard anything about Cartman’s mom?”

“Just that she’s a crack whore,” Stan murmured, throwing back whatever contents were sloshing around in his red solo cup. “But what’s new?”

“You talking about Cartman’s mom?” Fosse asked, approaching Kyle, and purposely bumping right into him. “I heard she gives back alley handjobs for five bucks.”

“I heard it’s less than that,” snickered the hot blonde, around his waist.

 _“Probably,”_ he chortled. “No wonder her son is a fucking failed abortion.”

Kyle could feel something in his chest tighten and his fists clenched up. “What the fuck did you just say?”

 _“Cartman,”_ he said, loudly. “Eric _Cartman_ is a _failed abortion.”_

Kyle couldn’t explain it. He couldn’t explain the rage that was building in his chest, but it was enough to make his skin twitch. “You wanna fucking repeat for me once more?”

“Jesus Christ, Broflovski,” he chortled. “I’m sorry. Forgot you were _in love_ with Eric Cartman.”

It was the final straw. Kyle outstretched his arms, pushing Fosse back with such force, that the girl around his arm let go, and he went tumbling into the floor, knocking a few other people guys over in the process. Fosse’s beer spilled all over him, leaking onto the floor.

“What the _fuck?!”_ he said, rising to his feet. “I’m gonna kick your fucking ass!”

 _“Back off,”_ Kyle hissed, forcefully shoving Fosse aside. He’d lost Cartman in the crowd, and suddenly he wanted to be literally _anywhere,_ but at Bebe Stevens’ Halloween party. “Don’t even fucking _start_ with me.”

“Kyle, dude, what are you doing?” Stan called out, but Kyle started storming away. Fosse followed, tugging at Kyle’s arm, but he turned around and shoved him back off again. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Fosse let go immediately, whispering something to someone behind him. Whatever. Kyle didn’t care whatever bullshit Fosse was planning to spread around about him. He was a fucking idiot and who would believe a fucking idiot?

“You have to be fucking kidding me, Broflovski,” Fosse hissed. “It’s just common fuckin’ _knowledge_ that Cartman’s mom doesn’t give a shit about him. She’s getting fucked up the ass every weekend by some druglord from Denver.”

 _“Fuck off,”_ Kyle swallowed, making his way around the others, and pushing forward, looking for his fatass passenger.

Cartman appeared from the crowd, standing near the door. _“Kyle?”_

“Come on,” he muttered, thankful for the loud music and drunk and disinterested crowd. “We’re getting out of here.”

Cartman glared. “You’re not in ch—”

Kyle grabbed him by his thin jacket, pulling him outside, through the front door. “I _said,_ we’re getting out of here.”

Bebe chased the two out of the door. “Kyle, Fosse says _you’re_ the one who got beer all over my mom’s carpet! What the _fuck?!”_

“I’ll pay you back tomorrow,” he shouted, him and Cartman making their way down the sidewalk to Gerald’s car. He didn’t have the time and he wasn’t in the right state of mind to deal with the ridiculous fucking high school drama bullshit. Maybe it was seeing Cartman in such a vulnerable state that turned him into this angry, aggressive, _protective_ person, but all he knew was that he hadn’t been that angry at another person in a very long time.

In fact, ironically, that anger was usually directed towards _Cartman_ himself…

He unlocked Gerald’s car and the two slipped inside. Cartman didn’t say a word, but instead crossed his arms over his chest and sulked.

“What are _you_ so angry about?” Kyle hissed.

“You’re not fucking in charge of me, Kyle, and you’re forcing me, _against my will,_ to leave Bebe’s party, and I’m—”

“How much do you hate this guy?” Kyle asked. “You know. Your fucking stepfather.”

Cartman blinked. “I fucking _hate_ him.”

“You really fucking hate him?”

“Kyle, I _really_ fucking _hate_ him.”

“Great,” said Kyle. “Where does he live?”

Cartman’s face broke out into a smile. “Well, uh...he actually lives in Denver…”

 _She’s getting fucked up the ass every weekend by some druglord from Denver._ Oh, _god,_ Kyle prayed that was just a coincidence.

 _“Denver?”_ Kyle glared, banging his hand against the steering wheel. “Cartman, that’s like two hours away!”

_“So?!”_

“Whatever,” said Kyle, signalling and pulling out into the street. He had to be cautious driving in their neighbourhood tonight, because of all the trick-or-treaters. “It’s Halloween, so we’re gonna go do something that’s actually fun.”

Cartman’s face broke out into another smile, this one wide and slightly evil. “What are you saying?”

“We’re gonna toilet paper that asshole’s house.”

Cartman fake gasped. “Why, _Kyle!_ I thought you were morally objected to committing such a _violent_ act!”

“Oh, well, fuck that,” Kyle grumbled, heading out in the direction of the grocery store.

“Denver is pretty far.”

“Yeah, so we’ll speed,” he said. “I don’t care.”

Cartman stared up at Kyle like he was literally heaven’s _incarnate._

Pulling into the grocery store a few minutes later, Kyle and Cartman dashed inside, grabbing several packs of toilet paper.

“Here,” said Kyle. “Gimme those. We need to go pay.”

“Wait, I have to get one more thing,” Cartman grinned, running back into the cooled section of the market. Kyle tossed their five huge packages of toilet paper onto the conveyor belt, watching as the unimpressed teenage cashier eyed him suspiciously, and scanned the products.

“What are you...toilet papering someone’s house, tonight?”

Kyle shrugged. “I have a really big family?”

“You could be a little less obvious.”

Kyle groaned. “We’re not toilet papering anyone’s _house,_ just because it’s Halloween.”

Cartman returned, slamming two cartons of eggs onto the conveyor belt. “We’re gonna need these too, Jew-boy.”

The cashier scoffed.

“Okay, whatever,” Kyle rolled his eyes. “We’re paying, aren’t we?”

The two headed out, back in the direction of Kyle’s car. Inside, Kyle started setting his iPhone’s directions to Denver. “You know where this asshole lives?”

“Yeah,” Cartman scoffed. “I’ve been there before.”

“Great,” said Kyle, handing him his phone to plug in the location. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Cartman typed in the location, passing the phone back to Kyle and clutching onto his arm. “Do you have any idea how fucking _hot_ you are right now?”

Kyle’s cheeks burned, as he shifted his car into drive, and pulled out of the parking lot. “Don’t test me, fatboy.”

They spent the entire ride listening to shitty pop music, as the sun went down and Kyle felt like he was living in sort of weirdly vivid fever dream, but it was okay.

He kinda liked it.

 

* * *

 

 _“That’s_ the house?”

It certainly didn’t _look_ like a house that belonged to some huge Denver drug mogul, but maybe that was the entire point...Bill’s house was right in the middle of some random Denver suburb, bordering right on the perimeter and Kyle had parked a few houses away, just to be on the cautious side.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Cartman hissed. “Don’t let him fool you. That house is a _front.”_

“You’re _sure_ it’s that one?” Kyle narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t 100% certain he could trust him. His gut told him he could, but experience with Cartman told him couldn’t.

“No, Kyle, I’m _lying,_ so we can toilet-paper some random asshole in Denver.”

“You say that as if it’s somehow unbelievable,” Kyle muttered, squinting his eyes in the direction of the house.

“Kyle, I swear to whatever fucking god you jews pray to, that that is Billy’s house.”

“We pray to the same god as you, you actual fucking moron,” Kyle murmured. “Come on, let’s do this.”

Cartman literally beamed, clicking open his side of the car and climbing out with Kyle, who opened the back of his father’s car, grabbing a few things of toilet paper. Cartman took their egg cartons. It was nearly 11 PM by then, so there were no trick-or-treaters in site. Just littered candy wrappers and suburban Halloween decorations. The two made their way down the street to Bill’s house, the streetlights barely lighting their way. Kyle could hear the familiar sounds of the highway in the distance, as they were just barely on the outskirts of the city, out in the suburbs.

Bill’s house had no car in the driveway. It was pitch black, with zero plants out front or any decorations, which stood out a tad in such a child-friendly neighbourhood. The two finally approached, standing side by side, sizing it up. It was two stories, with a garage and a large window in front. What looked like a black sheet hung over the window from the inside and Kyle wondered if there was something being intentionally hidden.

 _“Well?”_ asked Cartman, a recognizable gleam in his eye, even when cloaked in darkness. “You gonna pussy out?”

 _“I’m_ the one who drove us here and paid for all this shit,” Kyle hissed. “Let’s make that very clear. _I’m_ not the pussy.”

Cartman bit his lip, dropping his egg cartons onto the lawn, and reaching over for a package of toilet paper. He and Kyle tore through the wrapping, grabbing as many rolls as they could carry and still throw with. Kyle took the front of the house, Cartman sneaking around into the backyard.

Kyle felt something very satisfying about toilet-papering this house in particular. Maybe it was seeing those mysterious bruises on Cartman’s face and his sneaking suspicion that they weren’t accidental, and the way he was shaking and crying, and the way Fosse spoke about him and all of it and fuck, maybe Kyle really cared about Cartman for _some_ reason...but he tore open another pack of toilet paper, and climbed into the tree on Bill’s front lawn, to get a better angle. Fuck him.

_“Kyle!”_

He turned his head, to see Cartman back in the front yard. “C’mon, let’s _egg_ him!”

Kyle grinned, jumping down from his position in the tree. He landed on his feet, grabbing an egg carton and passing the other to Cartman. “God, this is gonna be a fucking _disaster_ to clean up.”

“He deserves it,” said Cartman. He peeled open his package, grabbing an egg and chucking it with all his force, at the large bay window.

Kyle picked out an egg, and threw it at his garage door. It crushed and splattered with a satisfying _splat._

“No, Kyle, wait,” said Cartman. “You have to aim higher, so it’s harder to clean. And try to aim for the toilet paper, so it sticks and hardens to his house.”

“Sometimes...just _sometimes..._ I forget how evil you are…” Kyle muttered, taking his advice and aiming for the stucco near a window on the second story.

 _“Yes_ ...right beside the window...so he’ll try reaching out to clean it, and _fall…”_

“That wasn’t my intention, but whatever makes you happy, I guess,” said Kyle, chucking an egg onto the roof.

Cartman paused throwing eggs at his future stepfather’s house, to just beam up at Kyle.

Kyle tossed another egg at the house, admiring their work. He turned back to Cartman, suddenly growing shy from his stare. _“What?”_

Cartman sighed with a smile, then reaching back into his box, to return back to egging the house. _“Nothing…”_

Kyle rolled his eyes, hurdling another egg at Bill’s front door.

_“HEY!”_

The two locked eyes, fear crossing over Kyle’s and something closely resembling guilt on Cartman’s. “What the _fuck,_ was that?” Kyle hissed.

“What are you two _doing?!”_

Kyle turned around. A middle-aged, father-looking type, a few houses down, stood on his lawn, arms crossed, with an unimpressed look on his face.

“Are you _egging_ my neighbour’s home?”

 _“No?”_ lied Cartman.

The man quickly tried approaching the two, and Kyle instinctually grabbed Cartman’s hand, pulling him in the opposite direction. Cartman picked up his feet, running alongside Kyle, with their hands intertwined.

_“Come back here!”_

The two made a mad dash down the street. Kyle knew he they wouldn’t have enough time to get into Gerald’s car, so instead, he dashed down the smooth pavement, leading Cartman in the direction of a house down the block. The gate had been left open, so the two snickered, sneaking inside, around the back, dashing up the deck, and hiding pressed up against the stucco walls of yet another suburban house.

“I think we lost him,” Kyle breathed.

“That was _hilarious,”_ Cartman laughed, out of breath. His hand was still tightly interlaced with Kyle’s gloved palms. “Bill’s gonna shit himself.”

 _“Good,”_ said Kyle, smiling softly, and facing Cartman. He was slightly out of breathe too. Cartman’s eyes were so fucking huge. Like big, bright doe eyes, that matched up perfectly with his round and soft cheeks. Oh, wow…

“I owe you,” said Cartman staring back into Kyle’s piercing green eyes. The sky was dark and blue light coloured their atmosphere, but those eyes were so, _so_ green.

“Then that makes us even,” said Kyle, leaning back against the wall of the house. “Because of the keg.”

“Right,” Cartman sighed. He exhaled loudly, he and Kyle’s hesitantly letting go of each other’s hands. “Um…”

“What is it?” Kyle asked. Cartman’s expression hard changed, and his cheeks looked like they were on fire. He sighed shakily, rubbing his hands together anxiously. “Cartman, what is it?”

He breathed in and out, deeply, and Kyle could feel his heart beating so quickly, it almost blocked out the sound of the rest of the world.

“Um...can I tell you something?”

“Yeah, of course…” said Kyle. The two were so close, their jackets rubbed up against each other. “What is it?”

“There’s another reason I hate Bill,” he started nervously. “Uh...you know, it’s cause he’s the worst, but also, I mean…”

“Spit it out, Cartman,” Kyle hadn’t intended to snap at him, but he wanted answers. _Badly._

“I’m trying, Jesus!” Cartman hesitated. “I’m just scared to tell you, okay?”

“Then do it fast,” Kyle encouraged. “Sometimes it’s just, like, ripping off a bandaid, you gotta—”

“—He’s homophobic.”

Oh. Well, that was different.

 _“Wow,”_ Kyle scoffed. “That’s fucked. I didn’t realize you cared about that kinda stuff.”

“Well,” he said, turning away. “I kinda _have_ to…”

Kyle’s eyes widened, as he put two and two together. “Cartman, are you... _gay?”_

 _“No!”_ he said, almost automatically. “I mean, maybe. Yeah. I dunno…” his voice trailed off. “I mean...I’ve dated girls before, but...I think I like guys more.”

Kyle swallowed, feeling his palms growing hot. “Cartman, it’s okay, you know...it’s fine…lots of people are _gay,_ it’s not a big deal…”

“Not _gay,_ Kyle,” he huffed. “Jesus Christ... _bisexual,_ maybe.”

“Bisexual,” Kyle repeated. “That’s fine. It’s okay, Cartman. It’s fine.”

Cartman looked up at him, with wide eyes. “You can’t tell _anyone._ I’m seriously, Kyle.”

“I won’t, I won’t, don’t worry,” he said, raising his hands in protest. Kyle leaned back up against the wall of the house. So, Cartman was into guys. It really didn’t shock him, to be honest. He’d done a lot of questionably gay things when they were kids and he _did_ love crossdressing too. Not that those things would necessarily make him _gay,_ but it did make sense…

“Why are you telling _me,_ though?” Kyle asked.

Cartman shrugged, peering up into the sky. “I dunno. I guess you’re the one I’m closest to.”

Kyle sighed, leaning back further against the wall. “Well, that’s a pretty weird way of putting it.”

“Uhhh, I mean, don’t tell the other guys I said this, but…” he said nervously. “I kinda...well, uh...thanks for everything lately, Kyle.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t make me say it,” Cartman rubbed the back of his neck. “The camping thing...and the ramen noodles...the _phone_ charger…”

“Well, you paid me back, so consider us even,” Kyle said with a sigh. God, it was a pretty night. The mountains in the distance, the dark blue sky, fairy lights glowing from the garden next door...there were even a few stars in the sky that night, and Kyle could feel the heat off of Cartman’s body radiating next to him. He was wearing that scarf again. Kyle almost regretted giving it to him. People might get the wrong idea, and think they were _dating_ or something...and that was something that would never, _ever_ happen, not in a million years. And why was Kyle _thinking_ about things like that? Was it because Cartman had just come out to him, or was it because he’d been going through a dry spell, or because he wasn’t even _thinking_ about girls lately? He couldn’t even _think_ straight when he had to constantly be on the lookout for whatever idiotic thing Eric Cartman was about to do next.

 _Do you have any idea how fucking_ hot _you are right now?_

“Kyle, I—”

“—how did you know?”

The question took Kyle by surprise, mostly because it had come from _himself,_ and he hadn’t known why he’d asked and if it was even _appropriate_ to ask, and _shit,_ why was he anxious for the answer?

Cartman swallowed, shrugging and leaning back against the wall. “I...uh...I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

“Oh…” Kyle hesitated. “That’s fine.”

“I fell for a guy,” he admitted. “Uh...for a _really_ long time.”

Kyle almost stumbled over his words. “Is it someone I _know?”_ He faced inwards, peering down to Cartman. Their hands touched unintentionally and it made his heart skip a fucking beat and he hated that it did, and _why_ did it skip a beat? Did Cartman actually successfully set some kind of atmosphere?

“Yeah, kinda...” he muttered, quietly. “I guess you could say that.”

“Did he, uh…” Kyle bit his lip, anxiously. “...like you back?”

Cartman pulled his legs forward, up to his chest. He murmured something Kyle couldn’t pick up and he considered asking him to repeat it, but decided against it, when he saw the way Cartman’s face fell.

It was Kyle’s turn to be hesitant.

“Um, you know, Cartman...I mean, being into guys isn’t really a big deal. Love is... _subjective._ I dunno. I think sometimes love can just kinda break through the boundaries of gender and sexuality. Does that make sense?” he laughed nervously. “Maybe not.”

“Dude, that’s…”

“Inspiring?”

“Gay.”

“Says _you_ of all people,” Kyle teased, nudging Cartman’s arm. He laughed and gazed up at Kyle, with that same look from before: fucking _heaven’s incarnate._ Kyle smiled softly down at him, moving in closer towards the other boy. It was intimate and weird, yeah, maybe, maybe Kyle didn’t have a shit to _give_ and his anger had all melted away and he _liked_ seeing that vulnerable side of Eric Cartman, because it meant he wasn’t _wrong_ to have maintained some kind of faith in him, for all those years. Cartman leaned up against him, wrapping his arms around Kyle’s waist and burying his face into his chest.

“Are you okay?” Kyle asked nervously, cheeks bright red. He tentatively wrapped an arm around Cartman, stroking his back softly. Maybe he really _did_ have a soft side for Cartman. He’d been secretly looking out for him even when they were children, and now in their current position, the evidence was _kind of_ stacked up against him.

“You can’t tell _anyone,”_ said Cartman, chest heaving up and down, in a soft sob. “You have to promise.”

“Why are you crying?” asked Kyle.

“I’m not,” he lied, choking on his words. “You just have to promise me, Kyle, okay?”

“I promise,” said Kyle, hesitantly stroking his hair.

 _“Especially_ not Kenny,” he said, burrowing closer, practically seated in Kyle’s lap.

“I’m pretty sure Kenny’s bi too,” Kyle said, rubbing his back in slow and soft motions. “I mean, he’ll fuck anything that breathes.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Cartman, with a groan. “But I think he knows, and I can’t let that asshole win.”

 _“Cartman,”_ said Kyle, gently taking his face and cupping it in his hands. “I _promise._ It’s just between you and me.”

Cartman smiled, face still resting in Kyle’s hands, legs outspread across his lap. Kyle said nothing; he just softly let go, letting Cartman latch himself back onto his body. Although Kyle told himself he hated it, he didn’t so much mind being cuddled by Eric Cartman, for whatever reason. It was because he was vulnerable. Curse Kyle’s good fucking heart; that was what he told himself. His fucking massive heart, was always getting him into situations like this. Eric Cartman was an absolute fucking wreck, but he supposed if he could be honest with him, he could at least let him know it was okay to feel that way.

“What time is it?” Kyle muttered softly.

“What’s time?”

_“What?”_

“Oh, uh,” Cartman sat up in a fluster. “It’s 11:23.”

“Oh, shit,” said Kyle, getting up in a rush. Cartman slid off his body, stumbling backwards. “I have to be home by _one.”_

“Jesus Christ, Kyle, watch it,” he said, dusting off his clothing. “Just tell your bitch mom you’re running late.”

 _Why_ had he been cuddling with this asshole again? Maybe the big city fumes were going to Kyle’s head. “Just get up,” he glared. “We have to get the fuck out of here.”

“I haven’t even eaten yet,” Cartman obnoxiously whined, as the two trailed out of the back gate.

Kyle sighed. “We’ll get dinner on the way home, if you promise never to bitch at me like that ever again.”

“I can’t make any promises,” he sang, following Kyle down the suburban street.

“Well,” Kyle shrugged. “I guess I can’t say I expected anything less.”

 

* * *

 

Full of fast food, and exhausted, Kyle was relieved when he and Cartman had finally made it back into South Park. He texted Sheila and let her know he’d be out later than anticipated, which she wasn’t exactly _happy_ about, but she knew Kyle well enough to trust he was safe. Because honestly, that was really her one biggest concern when it came to Kyle.

Pulling up to his house, Kyle sighed, relieved to finally park and just go to bed. A _lot_ of things had happened that night. The fight at the party, spontaneously heading out to Denver to fucking _toilet-paper_ some asshole, the big outing, the cuddling...ah, yes, everything really _did_ lead back to Eric Cartman in the end, didn’t it? Kyle wondered how long they would have stayed, sitting up that close together, if he hadn’t realized the time, and he wondered why Cartman was suddenly so—

“Uh, Kyle. This isn’t my house.”

 _“Hey!”_ Kyle startled. He’d be so caught up in his thoughts and feelings, he hadn’t even _realized_ he’d neglected to drop off Cartman. “What the hell are you still doing here?”

“You never dropped me _off,_ Kyle,” he glared. “You wanna get on that?”

“You can literally just _walk_ home from here,” Kyle hissed.

“It’s like, 2 AM!”

“It’s not _2 AM.”_

“I could get _mugged_ out there, Kyle,” he said dramatically. “Mugged, and beaten, and raped. Is that what you want to be _responsible_ for? _Me,_ getting _mugged,_ and _beaten,_ and—”

“Okay, okay, _fine,”_ said Kyle, undoing his seatbelt. “I’ll walk you home.”

Of _course,_ the fatass took some form of pleasure in inconveniencing Kyle. He beamed up at him, as Kyle’s cheeks flushed, and the two stepped out of Gerald’s car.

“Wait, Kyle, isn’t that your car, over there?” asked Cartman. He wrapped his arm around Kyle’s and stuck close to his body, but the other boy made no effort to remove him. “Why did you take your dad’s car?”

“My mom had to use it,” Kyle replied, as the two shuffled side by side, approaching the Altima. He stuck his hands in his pocket, still letting Cartman clutch at his right arm. “For Ike’s trick-or-treating group, or something, I dunno.”

“You mean that little butthole is still trick-or-treating?”

“Watch it, Cartman, my brother is _not_ a—”

Kyle stopped dead in his tracks, when he got a glimpse of his car. Everything about it was the absolute same, but something was scribbled haphazardly across the front window of the car.

_‘GET OUT’_

Lame. Even for a Halloween prank? LAME.

“What the fuck?” Kyle scoffed, pulling his hands from his pockets, and pushing Cartman aside, to the other boy’s dismay. “Who did this?!”

He pulled off a glove, and rubbed his hand against the glass. It immediately came off, onto the side of his hand. It was sticky and smelled musty. “What the hell _is_ this?!”

Cartman wiped a finger against the scribbled “T” from “GET”, hesitantly sniffing it. “Lipstick.”

Of _course_ Eric Cartman would be able to determine it was lipstick. “I hate these stupid fucking Halloween pranks!” he grumbled, wiping more of it off, with an angry fist.

“You do realize that you sound like a hypocrite, right, Kyle?”

“Whatever,” Kyle glared. “What kind of immature _idiot,_ would do this type of thing?”

“Well, it’s lipstick,” Cartman shrugged. “So, whose heart did you break recently?”

“I’ve never broken someone’s heart,” Kyle grumbled. He was only making things worse, spreading it out.

“Don’t be so sure of it.”

Kyle turned back around. “...what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Cartman glared, gesturing back at the car. “Well, you pissed _some_ girl off!”

 _“Aghhh!”_ Kyle mumbled. “It was probably just Stan or Kenny as a prank, or Fosse’s girlfriend or something, who _cares?”_

“You. _You_ care.”

“Whatever,” he gave up trying to fix it. He’d just have to wipe it all down with a cloth. “Let’s just go home.”

Kyle stuffed his hands back into his pockets, subconsciously outstretching his right arm, for Cartman to hold. The other boy beamed, latching on, and talking animatedly about something, with his eyes all light up and sparkly, even under the dark night sky, and Kyle realized he had no idea what Cartman was talking about and that he didn’t care, because he was only focused on those eyes _anyway_ and how happy he got about absolute nonsense.

What was the world _coming_ to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~lowkey ik some ppl were excited for them to go to a halloween party~~ but there will be other party scene(s) coming up, so i hope that satisfies ur cravings,,, (;


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recap: kyle and cartman literally just drove off to denver on a whim, to TP cartman's *future* stepdad's house...and they were both feelin' some KINDA way...
> 
> also: HAPPY KYMAN WEEK!!! i've been a little too busy w/ this story and my bday approaching (july 7th!!), to do a full week of work, but...i've been SO lucky to work w/ @sleepyeule (on tumblr) and work on a story for their psycho AU, which (if things go as planned), will be uploaded tmrw for day 6 (AU day)! YEET...ty as usual for reading!! (':
> 
> (also if u haven't already, um, u should check out their art bc it's *phenomenal*)
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

Kyle woke up the next morning surrounded by an air of confusion because surprisingly the first thing on his mind actually _wasn’t_ “I wonder what irritating and irresponsible thing Eric Cartman will do today”.

It was just _“Eric Cartman”._

He got up and went about his routine; wake-up, eat, _kind of_ fix his hair, pull an ushanka over it anyway, then dress and get into his car, to pick up the others. Stan was always first. In fact, Kyle literally just had to back up out of his driveway, pull up and fucking _honk_ to let Stan know he was there. That was the advantage of living right by all your friends: not a bad commute, even if they all liked to argue about what radio station Kyle should be playing. Or Spotify playlist. You couldn’t please everyone.

Stan clicked open the passenger side door, throwing his bag under the seat, and climbing inside.

“What are you _doing?”_ asked Kyle, narrowing his eyes.

“Uh…” said Stan, with a laugh. “...taking my seat?”

“That’s Cartman’s spot.”

Stan chortled. “Since _when?”_

Kyle stalled. Yeah, Stan was right, since when did _Cartman_ start taking priority in terms of shotgun? He’d only ever let him ride up front to Stan’s games because Stan wasn’t there. He had to stick it out with Kenny in the back, during morning commutes. So when did Cartman become his preferred passenger?

“I dunno, _look,_  Stan, he’s just gonna whine and bitch if he doesn’t get to ride shotgun, so can you sit in the back?” Kyle grumbled.

“He’s not even here yet!”

“His house is literally _right there!”_ said Kyle, waving his hand in the direction of the Cartmans’ house.

Stan gave him a look of absolute disbelief, then grabbing his bag, getting out, and clicking open the back door, instead. He tossed his bag under his feet and pulled his seatbelt, aggressively over his chest. _“Happy?”_

“Ask Cartman, not me,” Kyle said, pulling up, down the road, in front of Cartman’s house. He sent him a _‘here’_ text, then leaning back in his seat.

“Kyle, since when does _Cartman_ call the shots around here?” asked Stan, holding onto the back of the driver’s seat.

“He doesn’t, _I_ do,” Kyle snapped. “I’m just sick of him being such a whiny little bitch, and this is—”

Cartman clicked open the side door, crawling inside, next to Kyle. _“Hey, Kyle.”_

He was wearing that same old, maroon hoodie, but underneath a navy blue jacket, with Kyle’s scarf wrapped around his neck. Cartman’s cheeks were flushed from the cold, and he had on a knit-hat, pulled lopsidedly over his thick, shiny brown hair.

 _“Hey,”_ Kyle breathed. He swallowed deeply, eyes then locking into place with Cartman’s. “So, um…how’d that assface react?”

“To _what?”_ Cartman asked. His eyes casually wondered from where they were locked with Kyle’s, scanning over his body instead.

Kyle nudged him. “To his _house!_ To us, fucking with his house!”

 _“Oh!”_ Cartman blinked. “Uh, yeah, I dunno. He just left a while ago, in that ancient fucking pickup truck.”

 _Pickup truck._ Now _that_ was the one at the mall that had given Kyle a _bad_ gut feeling.

“...how angry do you think he’s gonna be?” hesitated Kyle.

“Really, _really,_ angry,” Cartman grinned, rubbing his hands together. “He’ll probably shit his pants, _right_ on the spot.”

Kyle went quiet. He’d only seen that truck twice, but it had given him the _creeps_ . Something about Cartman’s future stepdad gave Kyle the creeps, even if he’d never met him, and he started to wonder that if it had been such a good idea to have spontaneously driven up to Denver to trash his house. “Cartman…” he whispered. “Should we have _done_ that?”

“He has no way of knowing it was us,” Cartman laughed, eyes darting to the sides. “I mean, there’s no proof, right?”

 _“Right…”_ Kyle nodded. His eyes fell to Cartman’s very empty backpack. It was unzipped, so Kyle could see its entire contents, and all that was shoved inside, was garbage and a single notebook. “Where’s your lunch?”

“Oh, shit, _right!”_ he exclaimed. “He’s gone! I’ll be right back, Kyle!”

The door slammed open, and Cartman slung his bag over his shoulder, making a mad dash back to his house. What a weirdo.

“Hey, excuse me, but can we get _going?”_ Stan grumbled. Kyle had entirely forgotten Stan existed. Sometimes it felt like the entire world was only _him_ and _Cartman._ _Not_ in the way it sounded like...they were just so focused on each other, that sometimes the rest of the world ceased to exist…

“Calm down, dude,” Kyle stammered. “We’ve got time.”

“You mentioned food, and he just ran back into his house,” Stan waved an arm. “Who knows how long it could take for him to stuff his fucking face in there?”

“Watch it, Stan,” Kyle snapped, turning on the radio. Another stupid, annoying, whiny pop song, about being down for someone or into someone or whatever. Cartman would _love_ it. He loved cheesy pop love songs. He was such a loser for that.

Stan scoffed. “Whatever happened to _‘fatass’?”_

“Nothing, he’s still a ‘fatass’,” Kyle snapped again.

“Then why are you suddenly acting all defensive?”

“I’m not, _asshole,_ do you ever just fucking shut up?”

Stan shook his head. “Dude, what is going _on_ with you?”

Kyle wasn’t paying attention. He watched, staring out the passenger door window, as Cartman approached his car. He walked with his hands clutched around the straps of the bag, like a fucking child. So much of what he did was completely juvenile and bratty; Kyle suspected it had something to do with childhood trauma or repression, _definitely_ repression, now that Kyle knew Cartman was attracted to men. _Blah, blah, blah._ He didn’t have time to do major psychoanalysis on Eric Cartman. Stuff like that should have been left to the pros.

Kyle was starting to think _he_ needed to be psychoanalyzed too, because something about the way Cartman beamed at him and then climbed into the seat next to his, made his stomach twist in ways, he hadn’t known were even physically possible.

“Uh...what was all _that_ about?” Kyle hesitated.

“Uh...Bill’s gone.”

_“So?”_

_“So,_ that means I can get myself some fucking food, without…” he trailed off, opting not to finish his own sentence.

“Get yourself some food without _what,_ Cartman?” Kyle asked, peering deeply into his eyes.

“It’s a long story, Kyle, Jesus Christ, relax,” he said, turning away.

“I am relaxed, _fatass,_ I just asked you a fucking question.”

His face twisted into a glare. “I dunno why you’re suddenly so intrusive, _Kyle,_ but it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Oh, my god, we _get_ it already, now Kenny’s texting _me_ because _you_ guys are running late,” Stan hissed.

“Okay, Stan. Then, get out and walk back home and you can drive to school in your mom’s car,” Kyle snapped.

“Yeah, Stan, _get out!”_

“Cartman, would you just shut the fuck up, already?” Stan glared. “God, what is _wrong_ with you two? You’re practically _codependent_ lately.”

Kyle signalled, harshly pulling out from his parking spot. They were, “codependent”? What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean? Sure, sometimes he helped Cartman out when he was in a bind, and sure Cartman had been practically latched onto his arm as of lately, but that was just their dynamic. Someone as simple as Stan Marsh, football “legend” and boyfriend of star student, Wendy Testaburger, would just never understand a relationship as complex as his with Cartman. It was hard to comprehend.

So, he didn’t say anything else. He just drove. And no one said anything else either.

The three pulled up at Kenny’s house. Kyle turned his head, staring out the passenger side. God, the McCormicks lived in a fucking dump. It was practically a trap house. Actually, at some point, it _had_ been a trap house. He slammed his hand against the horn, just as Kenny slipped out the front door, unlit cigarette between his teeth, and shaggy blonde hair hidden beneath the hood of his jacket. He trudged all the way to the car.

Cartman turned his head around, facing Kyle. When Cartman smiled, it was never a production. Not unless he had malicious intentions; but when he smiled sincerely, just the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly, and his eyes softened, and that was the _exact_ look he shot Kyle and Kyle felt the corners of his own mouth turn up without even thinking. Was it stupid to admit it was an expression from Cartman he’d always held _sacred?_

“Why is Cartman riding shotgun again?” Kenny snickered, reaching behind Cartman’s seat, and whispering something in his ear, before exploding into a fit of laughter.

 _“No,_ Kenny, Jesus Christ!” Cartman snapped. “Why can’t you and Stan just hop off my dick?!”

“Yeah? You already hopping on someone’s _else’s?”_ Kenny grinned.

“Kenny, I swear to god, if you keep this up, I’m gonna _whoop your ass!”_

“No, you’re not,” Kyle grumbled, pulling out into the street.

“So, _why_ did Kyle kick you back here?” Kenny asked Stan, flicking his lighter on.

“Oh, no, no, no, _asshole,_ you’re not smoking in my car,” said Kyle. “If it smells like cigarette smoke in here, my mom will fucking have my _head.”_

Kenny pinched the tip of his cigarette, destroying the little flame. He was perhaps, the only friend to actually respect any of the others’ wishes.

“Kyle decided _Cartman_ gets to ride shotgun, now,” Stan rolled his eyes. “Way to give in to his whining, dude.”

 _“You’re_ not the one who has to deal with the whining!” Kyle hissed. He’d be _so_ relieved when they finally arrived at school.

“I’m not _whiny.”_

“Then why do _you_ have to deal with the whining?” Kenny asked, splayed out in the backseat.

Kyle glanced at Cartman who’d been subtly staring at him, the entire ride. _That_ was why. Because he _had_ to. Because that’s how it had always been. Kyle was _always_ going to be the one dealing with Cartman and Cartman’s _whining_ and Cartman’s _neediness;_ he had an obligation to be there for him and improve him and save him from himself, that was just the way it had always been. And Kyle had never made any real effort to change that.

“Fuck off,” said Kyle. He pressed harder on the pedal, thankful they were only about a minute from school.

“Cartman just whines and bitches until Kyle gives him whatever he wants,” said Stan, barely looking up from his phone.

_“AY!”_

_“Damn,_ Kyle, you’re fucking _whipped.”_

Kyle considered stopping the car and kicking Stan and Kenny out, but then he’d probably have to hear about how _“Kyle just wants to ride all alone with his little boyfriend!”_ later. Besides, they were idiots and they just wanted to gain a reaction from Kyle.

“You wanna talk about being _“whipped”?”_ asked Kyle. “How about Stan, doing the fucking dance committee last year, because _“Wendy begged me to!”.”_

“Dude, you’re just bitter because you’ve never had a serious girlfriend.”

Kyle was _so_ relieved that they had finally pulled into the school parking lot. He gritted his teeth together, pulling into the spot his parents paid for, and slammed on the breaks so hard, Kenny slumped forward, bumping into Cartman’s seat.

 _“HEY!”_ Cartman whined.

“Careful, McCormick,” Kyle snapped.

Stan just blinked, unbuckling his seatbelt. “You guys are _so_ fucked.” He scoffed, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and stepping out of the car. Kenny just grinned a response, keeping in tow with Stan.

Kyle and Cartman got out together, silently, and Kyle almost expected Cartman to cling onto him, but remembered they were at school and luckily he kept his weird flirtations to himself in public.

_Mostly._

Before they could exit the parking lot, Kenny tapped Kyle’s shoulder, keeping him back, as Stan and Cartman continued on.

 _“Kyle_...what’s up, dude?”

Kyle turned around, facing the other boy. He narrowed his eyes, not liking the suggestive look on Kenny’s face. “What are you asking?”

“You know…” he said, gesturing at Cartman. Of _course,_ the world’s clingiest fatass was waiting by the entrance of the parking lot for Kyle. _“That.”_

“Oh, _god,”_ Kyle rolled his eyes. “I let Cartman ride shotgun one morning, and suddenly you and Stan have some _big_ fucking _issue_ with it.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Kenny scoffed. “I mean...you _really_ don’t get it, hey?”

“Get _what?”_

“You just compared _you_ and _Cartman,_ to _Wendy_ and _Stan.”_

_“So?”_

“You know what, maybe you’ll get it _someday,_ Kyle,” Kenny grinned. “Maybe someday, when you’re standing under an arch of flowers, in some traditional Jewish ceremony... _then_ you’ll get it.”

He just left Kyle standing there. And Kyle was still confused.

And he _still_ didn’t get it.

He just made his way to Cartman, and they walked off to homeroom together.

 

* * *

 

Kyle made the team, of course.

Basketball practice started right away, with their first game planned on being late into the second week of November. By then, Kyle’s schedule was truly packed, between putting the final touches on his Columbia essay, the big debate tournament in Denver, coming up next month, student gov and the school’s Christmas fundraisers, and now, of course, _basketball._

Kyle was fast and agile and a strong player. He _couldn’t_ be _topped._ The way he moved up and down the court, completely focused on each and every upcoming move, stealing the ball, shooting and passing...no _wonder_ he was the fantasy of some many girls in their class.

And one, very, clingy and persistent, chubby 17-year-old _fatass._

After practice, Kyle wiped his brow with the back of his arm, curls wet and clinging to his cheeks. _Ugh._ He hoped _some_ girl found post-playing sweat attractive but truly doubted anyone would.

“Kyle! _Kyle!”_

He turned around, hearing the loud gym doors close in the distance. A flustered, and red-faced Eric Cartman, loudly made his way across the gym, to his position on the court.

“Wow. Can’t remember the last time I’ve seen _Cartman_ in the gym,” said Token. Hilariously enough, he’d been dating Red for a few weeks now, and she’d slipped in a few minutes before Cartman had. The two sat huddled together at the bench, with her arm, draped over his shoulder. You must have had to _really_ like someone, to still want to be all up in their space, after they’d been running around, playing basketball for two hours.

“Lay off,” Kyle scoffed. He returned his focus, back onto Cartman, who was panting, as he made his way over. It was the Monday that next week, and though there was no blizzarding yet, layer, upon layer of snow, coated the ground. His cheeks were rosy red, and he had Kyle’s scarf wrapped around his neck, blue eyes still sparkling, underneath the dim gym lights.

 _“Jesus Christ,”_ Kyle muttered. “What are you still doing here? It’s like, 6 PM.”

“I...have an _update…”_ he panted. “About...the Bill stuff.”

 _“Oh,”_ he said, coming in closer, hesitating. “Did he find out it was us?”

 _“No,”_ Cartman grinned. “But he was totally pissed, and somehow a few eggs permanently stained the stucco.”

 _“Good,”_ said Kyle, running a hand through his tangled hair. “Something about that guy gives me the fucking creeps.”

Cartman’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

 _“Uh…”_ Kyle bit his lip. “Just the way you talk about him, you know, it...creeps me out.”

“Yeah, _well,”_ Cartman cleared his throat. “Probably ‘cause he’s a fucking creep.”

Kyle suddenly felt all too self-conscious, about being sweaty and red-faced and probably smelling disgusting. Especially when Cartman was so... _put-together,_ for once. He recycled and re-wore that knit, mahogany sweater, all too often, but his thick brown hair, ran down in soft, _shiny,_ long bangs, and Kyle had never known another person who had eyes that were just... _that blue._ He was so relieved the scarf he’d given him was a dark turquoise. Otherwise, those eyes would just look even bluer, and he’d be caught staring into them _endlessly…_

God, since when had he started finding _Eric Cartman,_ to be _this_ attractive? It wasn’t even in a purely physical manner, there was something charming about the way his eyes twinkled when he laughed and smiled. And when he saw him looking so sad, so distant, like _this_ moment, _now,_ he felt his own heart hurt and hated seeing those blue-eyes flash over, so darkly.

Feelings were _horrifying._

“I should go change,” Kyle started, but there was a tug at his arm.

_“Why?”_

“I’m covered in _sweat,_ Cartman,” Kyle said, pulling his arm away. “I have to go shower.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You’re not coming _with_ me,” Kyle scoffed.

“I don’t _wanna_ shower with you, Kyle, _Jesus Christ!”_

“I wasn’t _inviting_ you to!”

“I just want a ride home!”

“You’re _pathetic!”_ Kyle grumbled. “But it’s cold, so...I’ll drive you after I shower.”

 _“Really?”_ he grinned, tugging at Kyle’s arm and clutching onto him again. Yeah. He _usually_ didn’t get all weird and affectionate in public. “Can we listen to my Spotify on the way home? I made you a playlist.”

“What? _Why?”_ asked Kyle. Loose fuzz from the fat idiot’s sweater was probably gonna stick to his skin, and Kyle’s face turned even redder from the attention.

“Cause...your taste in music _sucks_ , Kyle,” he scoffed, staring down at the floor. “And if we’re gonna be hanging out this often, I don’t wanna get stuck listening to whatever pretentious indie rock you probably listen to.”

“I like rap, too,” Kyle muttered. “Whatever. Sure. _Fine._ But let me shower.”

 _“Okayyyyy,”_ Cartman beamed, letting go, and taking a seat at the bench. Kyle should have _known_ he’d be mooching off of him for rides, as soon as he got a car. The thing was both a blessing and a curse.

He _knew_ it had to be a curse because suddenly he was feeling things for _Eric Cartman._ It was the only explanation.

 

* * *

 

Kyle still had no fucking clue who had smudged lipstick all over his poor Altima.

It seemed like a dumb and excessive prank...and it definitely _was;_ the clean-up was no fun either. Lipstick smudged like a bitch and it was oily and the residue was tacky and hard to clean. That same night after Cartman had hijacked his post-basketball practice ritual, he’d grumbled about the residue left around the window.

 _“What_ residue?” asked Cartman, who had his arm outstretched, and latched onto Kyle’s, head resting against his seat, with closed eyes. Kyle looked like shit; hair wet and messy and stuffed in his army green ushanka...or so he _thought_ he did; yet Cartman still rubbed up against his shoulder and stared at him, with his head cocked to the side, wide-eyed. Not that he flirted with Kyle, because he _like-liked_ Kyle, but whatever…

“The _lipstick,”_ Kyle muttered. “From my car.”

Cartman sighed. “Oh, yes, _right,_ the ex-girlfriend-special. Kyle, all you need for that, is oil-free makeup remover.”

“Oil-free _makeup_ remover?” Kyle grumbled. “Cartman, you say that, as if I’d ever _own_ makeup remover.”

“Relax, Kyle, Jesus Christ,” he’d said, as they pulled up this his house. “I have some.”

Of _course,_ he did.

And so, Eric Cartman helped Kyle clean his precious car, and Kyle noticed again, how the Cartmans’ house, that once excessively smelled of cookies and vanilla, smelled like cigarette smoke and looked decayed. Kyle hadn’t seen Cartman smoke in a week or two. He seemed to be doing it less.

And everything about being in that decaying, creepy and alarmingly _lonely_ house, sucked, but it didn’t suck, being in a situation with Cartman, where he was sincerely there to help Kyle and made an effort for him. _Why_ Cartman owned an expensive bottle of makeup remover, Kyle didn’t understand, but it got the job done. He drove home with a clean windshield, and a strange feeling in his stomach, once again.

He hated always giving Cartman rides home.

He hated leaving him at a place, that left him feeling so uneasy.

And he _really_ hated that Cartman elicited _concern_ from him.

 

* * *

 

It was weird, really. Since Halloween night, there had maybe been a shift in Kyle’s _relationship_ with Cartman. No, not _“relationship”_ ...but it couldn’t really be classified as a _friendship_ either, because they’d never _really_ been “friends”, but it was _something._

The kind of shift, where it suddenly had become the norm, to drop him off. _Alone._ Because often, Kyle did give Stan and Kenny rides back home, or to work, too. Kenny usually took the bus to Target or got a ride with Stan if he had his mother’s car, or was in the area...and Stan himself, usually spent his time being driven around by Wendy. They did voluntary work at the soup kitchen, and Stan still worked at the animal shelter part-time. So at some point, it had just become Kyle and Cartman. It was weird, that in just two or so weeks, the pair spending so much independent time together, was becoming the norm…

But at what point, had it even become the norm for Cartman to latch onto Kyle, and _flirt_ with him like that?

Kyle supposed Cartman had done flirty things like that since they were children. Because he _did._ He was a _freak._ And he even did flirtatious things like that, into their teens. But it was like that summer had triggered something in him...he turned cool, at first...avoiding Kyle at all costs, _ignoring_ him...into this...cuddly, affectionate _disaster,_ and Kyle found himself wondering _why,_ exactly. It _was_ very much like Eric Cartman to be predictably unpredictable, and as kids, he _had_ often leaned on Kyle for support or reassurance. But he was on a whole new _level,_ of clingy, these days.

When they were in the car, _alone,_ Cartman wanted to rest his head on Kyle’s shoulder. He always smelled like that same, girly, distinctly, floral shampoo. Kyle recognized it as lavender. Lola had that same shampoo. They’d made-out at a party once, and he had stopped in the middle of it, because he’d felt Cartman’s stare on him.

 _“Hello?”_ she’d giggled. _“You seem so distracted…”_

Kyle had swallowed the lump in his throat. _“I’m not.”_

_“Then...why’d you stop?”_

So, he’d launched into a random tangent, about how good her hair smelled, and she’d smiled and gone on about how it was some kind of lavender shampoo, and it made her hair really soft and shiny, but Kyle was just watching Cartman, standing off in the distance, with a red solo cup and wistful look in his eyes.

God, he got _weird_ whenever Kyle had a girlfriend. He’d even played saboteur, whenever Kyle’d had a “girlfriend”, back in elementary school and into their teen years, he was less obnoxious with it, but always _loved_ intruding on dates... _distracting_ him...in fact, Kyle’s relationships most often failed, because he was too distant. He got caught-up in Cartman’s antics and for some, _self-loathing_ reason, he’d too often prioritize Cartman over a girl he liked.

Cartman’s hair was soft and smelled like Lavender, and sometimes for that reason, Kyle didn’t mind the affection. He supposed it was nicer than his unfunny jokes and obnoxious rants and yelling and crying.

That was another thing — Cartman and _crying._ He didn’t cry for the show of it, anymore. Shit, he wouldn’t even be able to do that with Kyle, when Kyle could see right through him. Instead, he sobbed for _real,_ these days. Kyle’s mind kept flashing back to him crying on the steering wheel of Liane’s old SUV, then in the car on the night of his impromptu camping trip, and sitting up against that bench, back at Stark’s Pond, the _angry_ tears, as he smashed apart his future stepfather’s belongings, and then the tears of relief, that he cried into Kyle’s jacket, as the two had sat huddled up, in the suburbs.

Cartman’s sincerity, elicited a warm and protective feeling, from deep down inside of Kyle. Something _strong,_ not something yet _explicit,_ but something forceful enough for him to want to reach down, and shield Cartman from the rest of the world. To protect him from, whatever was _hurting_ him. Something like _love,_ maybe, but not _love,_ because that’d be insane.

All Kyle knew for certain, was that something had _changed._ He no longer pulled his arm away, when Cartman latched on. He didn’t push him away when he wanted to rest his head on his shoulder. He didn’t yell at him to wake up, when he fell asleep, curled up, in his car. He was a big fucking baby, yeah, for sure. But he was growing on him...some way, _somehow._

Their entire relationship had built up into this game, where no matter _how_ awful the thing Cartman did was, Kyle _still_ tried to see the very best in him. But now that Cartman had truly changed and developed...Kyle’s entire opinion and perspective on him had morphed into something _new._

When would Kyle Broflovski, _ever_ had expected, maybe even _hoped,_ to see Eric Cartman, at one of his basketball games, before? It was crazy...really, _really_ crazy, but at his first basketball game, he almost _wanted_ Cartman there. He wanted him to see how talented he was; because Kyle was _so_ talented, and now, according to _Cartman_ — and all the cheerleaders, he supposed — _hot._ So when he looked up into the crowd, and only saw Stan and Kenny, Kyle was thrown into a state of dismay.

“Where’s Cartman?” he asked, after the game, a towel slung around his neck. They’d won the game.

“I dunno,” Stan shrugged. “Couldn’t make it?”

“Did you _invite_ him?” Kyle scoffed.

 _“No,”_ Stan narrowed his eyes. “I mean, I didn’t really think of him.”

“You could have invited him, yourself,” Kenny added, sipping on a Coke.

“Whatever,” Kyle shook his head. “It’s just weird he didn’t come, that’s all.”

“Aw, _Kyle,”_ Kenny teased. “You’ve got an entire cheerleading squad after you, and you still just want _Cartman?”_

Kyle glared. “Fuck off, McCormick. You can always _walk_ to work if you want.”

Stan didn’t _get_ Kyle’s new attachment, and Kenny _always_ got it, but he wasn’t about to push Kyle’s limits. Not when walking all the way to the other side of town in _November_ mountain weather was at stake.

And Kyle didn’t even get _himself_ lately, not when Eric Cartman had taken over his mind, and his priorities and he _wanted_ him to be at his basketball game. For _some_ reason. Kyle got school, he got athletics, he got _everything_ else. And for the longest time, he’d thought he got _Cartman_ too, but he was a real puzzle to him recently.

He and Cartman were a mystery, that he was dying to solve. But Kyle was afraid that when he found the answer, he might like it more than he wanted to.

 

* * *

 

It was a Monday when Kyle finally finished his application to Columbia. He’d read his answer, over and over again, checking for errors. Then, he had his mother read it back over again. Then, he’d emailed Wendy, and asked _her_ to read it. Sheila had reassured him everything was “perfect”, but Wendy had a few suggestions regarding sentence structure and word choice. He was glad he’d asked another person, besides his sweet and headstrong, but _very_ biased, mother.

“This is it,” he said, sucking in his breath, Sheila and Ike, standing behind him. Kyle sat propped up in his desk, focused on his laptop, cursor hovering over the _SUBMIT_ button. “My _entire_ future depends on what I do next. This could all be one, huge, mistake”

“Don’t be so _dramatic,_ Kyle,” Sheila scoffed, leaning inwards, to pull off his ushanka, and affectionately fluff his hair. “You’ve spent _months_ on this application. If they don’t accept you, _they’re_ the ones making a huge mistake. Never _you.”_

“I’m too nervous,” he hesitated. “Mom, are you _sure_ there were no grammatical errors?”

“Bubbe, I’m _positive,”_ she said, rubbing his shoulders. “If you really want, I could have your father look over it.”

“No, thanks,” he mumbled. Gerald had been... _not_ a very nice person, lately. And that was to say the very least.

 _“That’s it,”_ said Ike, pushing Kyle aside, to his laptop. “Just let me do—”

 _“NO,”_ Kyle said, pushing his brother back again. “I’ll do it, _Jesus Christ.”_

 _“Language,_ Kyle!”

He bit his lip, held the cursor over the button, and just thought: _“Fuck it”._ Kyle clicked _SUBMIT,_ the virtual application being sent off, into cyberspace. The screen reloaded, verifying that Kyle’s application had gone through.

 _Holy shit,_ he’d officially applied to Columbia.

Sheila cheered, and Ike rolled his eyes. Kyle’s entire body was full of jitters; it was _finally_ done. It was _done._ _All_ of the essay questions, the transcript was attached, god, the wait for a response would be so _painful,_ but at least for now, he was _done._ Kyle slammed his laptop shut, getting up from his chair, only to be pulled into a hug by his mother.

“I’m so proud of you, Kyle!” she said, clinging affectionately. “You’ve worked so hard for this. _You_ should be proud of yourself, too.”

And he was. There was still a distinct air of nerves, surrounding him, but Kyle _was_ excited. This was hopefully, going to be the first step, into his life as a lawyer. And it was finally done. It felt good to be _done._

The moment Sheila and Ike were gone, Kyle picked up his phone. His fingers flew to Cartman’s contact. _FATASS._ He was uncertain of _why,_ when Stan was the norm, he’d want Cartman to be the first to know, especially after he’d missed his basketball game on Friday. It had just been an automatic feeling.

Kyle called Stan instead.

“Oh, dude, I was just about to call you anyway,” said the voice on the other end. _“What’s up?”_

“I _finally_ submitted my application to Columbia,” Kyle grinned, into the phone.

“Oh, dude, congrats!” it sounded like Stan was outside, and he could hear girls’ voices in the background. “It’s about fucking _time!”_

“Yeah, man,” said Kyle, running his fingers up and down, against his desk. “Where are you?”

“I’m at Bebe’s, with Wendy,” he said, hesitantly. “That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Kyle’s brows furrowed together. “What does that have to do with _me?”_

“Well, there’s some kinda new restaurant opening in Denver. I dunno. Wendy says it’s world-acclaimed, or her favourite critic loved it, or something. She wants us to go.”

Kyle snickered. “Do they have _vegan_ options?”

“Yeah, of course, Kyle. What _year_ are you living in?” he grumbled, and Kyle could hear a loud and distinct laugh in the distance. _“Anyway,_ Wendy wants to go, but so does _Bebe_ obviously, so…”

“I don’t like where you’re going with this, Stan…”

“Dude, _come on.”_

“I don’t wanna date Bebe again, Stan,” Kyle whispered. He prayed he wasn’t on speakerphone. “Besides, that whole party thing makes it so... _awkward.”_

“That was months ago, Kyle, _let it go,”_ Stan whined. “Bebe’s really cool. Last time we went out, she ordered from the vegan menu.”

“Maybe _you_ should date Bebe,” Kyle grumbled. “Besides, the drive into Denver is so long. I’m not making _that_ trip again. Not with _you_ and two girls.”

 _“Again?”_ Stan scoffed. “Our last trip to Denver was... _spring break.”_

“Yeah, well, not _my_ last trip to Denver,” said Kyle. He rested his head up against the back of his bed, running a hand through his hair.

“Who are you taking out to _Denver,_ recently?”

Oops. Stan hadn’t known about Halloween. When Kyle had been questioned the next day about his sudden disappearance from the party, he’d lied and told Stan and Kenny he’d just gone straight home...conveniently evading the part where he and Cartman had slightly vandalized a jerkass’s suburban slice of heaven. He didn’t want to get into the details, and honestly, he kind of _liked_ the whole thing being just between him and Cartman.

_“No one.”_

_“Kyle.”_

He _did_ hate lying to Stan.

“Okay, _maybe,_ Cartman and I went to Denver a little while ago,” Kyle hesitated. “But, _look—”_

“See, that’s what I’m saying,” Stan sighed. “What the _fuck_ is up with you and Cartman? Why are you taking him to Denver?”

“Jesus Christ, lower your _voice,”_ Kyle hissed. He shouldn’t have told Stan. “It was a long time ago, just as a _favour.”_

“Kyle, I dunno what’s gotten into you, but I’m just gonna say it, dude. You need to get _laid. Real bad.”_

Kyle wondered if his gasp was audible over the phone. _“Fuck you.”_

“No, I didn’t mean it like _that,”_ he sucked his breath back in. “I just mean, well...you know, sometimes you get _weirdly_ fixated on Cartman, and I dunno...dude, the _hottest_ girl on the cheerleading squad wants to go out with you, so...I’d use that to your advantage.”

“I just hope for _your_ sake, Wendy isn’t listening in on this conversation.”

“I’m in the bathroom, chill out,” Stan sighed. “I know you’re still pissed off at Bebe for what she said at the bonfire, but she was drunk and barely remembers anything from that night. She’s way too embarrassed to apologize at this point, so...can you just give her another chance?”

All Kyle could think about, when reminded of that bonfire, was the distinct look of desperation on Cartman’s face, after discovering him, wandering aimlessly along the highway...the way he’d curled up in the back of his car...the tears, at the mention of his now _future_ stepfather...the bright look in his eyes, when Kyle helped him out of the car.

_“Carry me.”_

He’d smiled in his false slumber, the streetlights projecting over his soft, round body. He _wanted_ Kyle to rescue him from himself. He trusted him. Kyle had rescued him once, and that was all it took, for Cartman to cling to his arm, and nuzzle up against his chest, weeks later.

And he probably _would_ have, picked-up Cartman, and carried him at this point. He’d have carried him _anywhere_ if he’d get to see the inexplicable look of joy in his eyes, any time he was treated to any form of affection. The way he softened up against Kyle’s touch, and wiped his tears away onto Kyle’s jacket, wearing his scarf around, like a piece of armour. He knew it by then, they both did. Kyle cared. He really, fucking cared.

So he swallowed the growing lump in his throat, knowing what he had to do.

“So,” Kyle breathed. “When are we going?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, if this chapter made ZERO sense...I urge you to go back and read chapter 8, as it was uploaded incorrectly at first. THANK-YOU !!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry i'm posting this so late ): ik a lot of ppl were waiting on it, but i've been sick since last night, w/ a bad headache. next chapter will be released on its regularly-timed schedule
> 
> recap: kyle and eric are feelin' some kinda way, and kyle is heavy in denial and agreed to double-date w/ stan & wendy and bebe. also, it's bball season for kyley-b yeet
> 
> AND on a really HIGH-note for myself!!! 3 LOVELY ANGELS!!! have done art for my gay af fanfic??? i'm living?? so um y'all already know who u r, i'd like to thank not only god, but jesus for koi, eule & andy for doing the v most for me like...seriously i cried a little that was so considerate...(go follow them or ur a coward)
> 
> links2art:  
> [kymanifesto](https://kymanifesto.tumblr.com/post/175648530428/yoooo-its-my-homegal-lais-b-day-kylebiased-so/)
> 
>  
> 
> [sleepyeule](http://sleepyeule.tumblr.com/post/175694278811/gift-for-kylebiased-w-based-on-their-fic-i-do/)
> 
>  
> 
> [andy-deer](https://andy-deer.tumblr.com/post/175752055133/this-is-old-and-so-bad-im-sorry-from-this-fanfic/)
> 
>  
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

Later that week, Kyle had some errands to run at the mall. And errands were _so_ boring, meaning that he _totally_ required someone to go with him. Kyle supposed this was one of those times that having a girlfriend would come in handy, but he didn’t _have_ a girlfriend, so he texted the obvious alternative.

 

**6:14 PM  
** I’m going to the mall

 

When Kyle realized he’d have to actually invite him, and not just announce what he was doing, he gritted his teeth. He was so stubborn; he even hated _asking_ the fatass to hang-out.

 

**6:14 PM  
** Wanna come?

 

If he didn’t reply, oh well. If he didn’t wanna talk to Kyle, whatever. If he was too busy, it was his loss. His loss, if he didn’t wanna—

 

**FATASS  
** **6:15 PM  
** i need time to get ready

 

**6:16 PM  
** Why?

 

Kyle had _just_ seen him, not 2 hours ago.

 

**FATASS  
** **6:17 PM  
** i wanna look good

 

**6:17 PM  
** It’s not a fucking DATE

 

**FATASS** ****  
**6:18 PM**   
10 minsssssss pls kyleeeee

 

Kyle sucked in his breath. He could have tried Stan first. He really could have. Scratch that, _should_ have. But whatever. He was used to Cartman’s high-maintenance behaviour and knew how to deal with it. He got up from where he sat in bed, changing out of the graphic tee he’d worn to school that day, and into a dress shirt, vest and jeans. He prayed to himself that Cartman didn’t make some huge production out of him changing into something else. He just wanted to be more _comfortable_ if he had to get in a few hours of Hanukkah shopping, with freaking _Cartman._ Why had he asked _Cartman,_ again?

Taking off down the stairs, Kyle reached into the front entrance closet for his jacket. He was about to grab his keys from the little bowl his mother kept near the door when Sheila stopped him.

“Kyle, have you heard back from Columbia yet?” she asked, carrying a basket of folded laundry. “Your father talked to your cousins, and apparently they had your application fast-tracked.”

_“Really?”_ Kyle blinked. “Uh, no, not yet. It’s only been a few days.”

“Yeah, but I think interviews start soon,” she reminded him. “Hopefully you get a response.”

_“Hopefully,”_ he muttered, lacing up his snow boots.

“Bubbe, whatever happened to that nice scarf of yours?” Sheila asked, picking a loose thread off of his jacket. “The blue one, I mean.”

“Uhhh…” he muttered. “Lent it to a friend.”

“Make sure they return it,” she nodded. “That scarf always looked _so_ nice on you.”  
Eh, nowadays, that scarf looked a lot better on someone else. “I’ll be home later.”

“Drive safe, Kyle!”

 

* * *

 

And, of course, because it was Cartman he’d asked to come with him, Kyle had been forced to listen to an annoyingly cliche and sweet pop-playlist on the way over to the mall. Eric Cartman managed to defy every single type of stereotypical teenage boy behaviour. He was also wearing that scarf. Again. He wore the damn thing everywhere nowadays, and Kyle knew people knew that it was _his_ scarf, so on the ride over, he came _thisclose_ to asking Cartman that he give the scarf back or just stop wearing it all together, but how could he tell him _‘no’?_ It was pretty freaking impossible, when Cartman looked so snug and _happy,_ with it bundled up all around his neck and shoulders. Happy Cartman, _sincerely_ happy Cartman, with _zero_ malicious intent, was like a rare coin of some sorts, or maybe a lucky four-leaf clover. You wanted to keep it. You cherished it.

The two parked outside the mall and Kyle sighed, as they fell into stride with each other. Kyle expected Cartman to fly straight to his right arm, and cling onto him as they entered the mall...just because it had become so _natural,_ but he didn’t. Though he still kept close to Kyle, and they rubbed shoulders, making their way through the mall. Over the past seven or so years, the mall had been transformed. Of course, it had already been of a considerable size before, but the added Target really help with business. It was still mid-November, but the mall was already packed with Christmas sales and decor, and the mall’s atrium was taken up by a cheesy “North Pole” display, where people could take photos with Santa. Ahhh, sweet commercialism. Soon the Black Friday raptures would be upon them.

“Why are we here, again?” Cartman asked.

“Hanukkah shopping,” Kyle mumbled.

Cartman grinned, as they made their way past clothing store, after clothing store. “And you invited _me?”_

“Yeah,” Kyle snapped. “But make any Jew-jokes, and I’m leaving you stranded.”

_“Kyle!_ When have I _ever_ made any jokes about you being a Jew?”

“Quite _often_ when we were kids,” Kyle glared. “But I guess you’re better now. Still, you’d better watch it.”

The two kept walking, maintaining a slow, but steady pace. Kyle didn’t know if it was just his own paranoia, but he felt some kind of awkwardness between them. Not in a _bad_ way, but it felt like something had gone unspoken, or there was some kind of tension in the air, or maybe something unresolved. He was starting to regret asking Cartman to come; _why_ had he asked him to come? He only needed to stop by a few stores, to get a gift for Ike, and then his mother and father. It could have been a 30-minute task, but he’d invited _Cartman_ along, so surely, it was about to turn into a massive production.

“So…” Cartman cleared his throat. “What are you getting for _me?”_

Kyle scoffed, being brought back down to reality. “How about a kick in the ass?”

_“Ooh,”_ he teased. “Kyle, I had no idea you were such a _freak.”_

_Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him._ Kyle took a deep breath, in and out, trying to stay patient. God, he was an _idiot,_ for bringing him along. He was probably just going to keep making stupid comments like that, their _entire_ outing.

“Knock it off,” Kyle snapped. “We have to stop by Barnes & Noble, so I can pick-up some  book my mom wants.”

“The Torah?”

“I _warned_ you!”

“Jesus Christ, Kyle, _relax,_ it was a real question!”

“So, what, do you usually get the _Bible_ for Christmas?”

_“No?”_

“Same philosophy,” Kyle mumbled, as the two headed in the direction of the bookstore. “You really don’t know _anything_ about Hanukkah.”

“I know you get _eight days_ of presents,” Cartman scoffed. “Must be nice to be spoiled.”

“You all get a _shitload_ of presents on Christmas morning. More than we _ever_ get for Hanukkah, because the holidays are so fucking commercialized, these days,” Kyle added. “So don’t even _try_ calling _me,_ spoiled.”

“You have your own car and a credit card your parents _pay_ for, _Kyle!”_

“Oh, yeah, and where does all that money end up going to?” Kyle snapped, as they approached the bookstore. “Paying for _your_ stupid ramen noodles, and _pretzels,_ and phone chargers and _gas,_ so I can drive _you_ around town.”

“I never _ask_ you to do that for me!”

“Yeah, you _do!”_ Kyle glared. “You ask me for shit, _all_ the time! I think I spend half my time, just driving _you_ around town. I do so _much,_ for you.”

The air was silent for a moment, as the two entered the store. Cartman grinned with a sigh, then wrapping himself around Kyle’s left arm, causing his cheeks to turn an embarrassing shade of red. _“Yeah_...you do the very most for me, Kyle.”

Kyle bit his lip. He didn’t actually so much mind the clinginess, but they were in _public._ South Park was a small town. And on top of that, a lot more people than he’d like to think about, already thought Kyle and Cartman had dated at some point, thanks to a rumour the fatass had started back in the fourth grade, that _somehow_ reemerged last year, in the eleventh grade. “Cartman, what are you—”

Cartman unravelled himself from Kyle’s arm, hand clutching at his wrist and dragging him around the store, instead. Which wasn’t really much _better._ But Kyle would allow it.

“So, what are we looking for, Kyle?” he sighed, tugging him down a section of books.

“Um...I dunno...it’s some book on women in politics.”

“Wow, Kyle. That’s totally helpful. Let’s just go check the “women in politics” section of Barnes & Noble.”

Kyle pulled his phone back out of his pocket, Cartman still attached to his wrist. “Ike knows what it’s called, alright? I’ll find out from him.” He proceeded to scroll through text messages from his little brother and suddenly found that his wrist felt cold.

And so, in a shocking twist of fate, the world’s _clingest_ 17-year-old boy, had wandered off.

_“Cartman?”_ Kyle blinked. Sometimes spending time with him, really _did_ feel like babysitting. Of course, if he never found _Cartman,_ he could just leave without him. Honestly, losing him might just be for the better. But Kyle’s chest filled with anxiety, realizing he had no clue wherever the other boy had wandered off too, so he swallowed his pride, and turned down the next aisle.

What kind of books did Cartman like? Kyle didn’t actually know. He knew Cartman had been overly-enthused to read _The Catcher in the Rye_ back in the fourth grade when Mr. Garrison had informed the class it had once been a _banned_ book. However, he was pretty sure Cartman had decided “never to read again”, after the book had been surprisingly _tame,_ for their standards. Kyle was pretty certain Cartman liked graphic novels at the very least, so he headed off in that direction.

He didn’t have to walk that far to find him, though.

Cartman was in the section with all the toys, and blankets, and weird pens and knick-knacks. Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, watching as the other boy flipped through a book. If it was in _that_ section, it was probably a parodied version of the Kama Sutra or some sort of idiot joke book.

“What are you _doing?”_ asked Kyle, pulling him around by the shoulder. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Nice to know you _care,”_ Cartman cooed, clutching the book up to his chest.

“What is that?”

“What is _what?”_

“That book.”

_“What_ book?”

“The one you’re holding!” Kyle groaned. “Is this _fun_ for you?”

_“Yes,”_ Cartman beamed, then sliding the book back behind him onto the table. “So, uh...did you find your mom’s book?”

Kyle slid behind him, scooping up the book that he’d obviously been trying to hide. To his surprise, it wasn’t actually a book, but a purple, hardbound journal, with gold embroidering on the cover. Kyle flipped through the pages; if _Eric Cartman_ had found something fascinating with whatever this journal was, it was probably because he’d drawn a dick in it or something else immature and crude. But it was empty.

“Why are you looking at _diaries?”_

“It’s not a diary, Kyle,” he insisted, cheeks a tad flushed. “It’s called a _journal,_ and lots of _men_ have one.”

Kyle grinned, peering between Cartman and the purple notebook. “Are you one of them?”

_“No.”_

“Then why are you getting so defensive?”

“So _what,_ if I have a journal?” Cartman stammered a bit. “I heard _John Cena_ has a journal. John fucking _Cena,_ Kyle, are you gonna tell me, John _Cena,_ isn’t cool?”

“I’m not making fun of you, Cartman,” Kyle bit his lip, smiling to himself a little. “I actually think it’s kinda... _nice.”_

Cartman’s entire act of defence was dropped. _“...really?”_

“Uh... _really,”_ Kyle rubbed his arm. “I think it’s kinda... _nice,_ knowing you practice healthy, and...you know, uh, _contemplative_ exercises, like that.”

Of course, Kyle didn’t _know_ what kind of things Cartman was _putting_ in said-journal, but the idea of him sitting at his desk, doodling and writing about his day was kinda... _cute._

“Yeah, well, I don’t really do it anymore,” he mumbled, hands flying to his pockets.

“Why?”

He just shrugged. “Lost my journal.”

“You could write a blog.”

“I don’t want the whole world knowing my _business!”_

“Actually, you’re right,” Kyle mumbled, putting down the journal, as the two fell back into step. “I don’t know if the world is _ready_ to know all about your innermost thoughts and feelings, either,” Cartman smirked, nudging Kyle’s side, as they headed off in the direction of an employee, who might _actually_ know where Sheila’s book was hiding. Kyle nudged him back, and suddenly, the whole thing felt easy again and it was nice.

 

* * *

 

After scathing the mall for some pretentious lawyer-gift, Kyle knew the two would have to drop by Target, to get the video game that Ike had been pleading for. He and Cartman walked side to side, bodies pressed up against each other’s, and Kyle didn’t mind at all. As they made their way past “The North Pole”, Cartman tugged at his arm.

“Kyle, look, go get your picture taken with Santa!”

“I’m Jewish, idiot.”

“Oh, right,” he said. “Whose lap do you sit on, then? _Abraham’s?”_

_“No one’s,”_ Kyle said, pulling him away from the display. “Come on. I wanna go to Target, and then get the hell out of here. I’m starving.”

“Me too.”

“When _aren’t_ you starving?” he scoffed, a moment later realizing, he might have crossed a line. True, Cartman had put back on the 15 or so lbs he’d lost since returning from that summer, but Kyle still didn’t see him eat as often as he should have. “...um, after this, we can go get dinner.”

_“Really?!”_ Cartman beamed, clutching back onto Kyle’s arm, as they walked in step. “Can we go to Denny’s?”

“We can go somewhere nicer than _Denny’s,”_ Kyle snapped, unintentionally. “Like...I dunno.”

“Red Robin?”

“How is _Red Robin,_ any nice than _Denny’s?”_ he asked, the two entering the mall’s attached Target.

“They have a salad bar.”

“So does Denny’s!”

“PF Chang’s?”

_“Sure,”_ Kyle sighed. “We can go to PF Chang’s.”

“Sweet,” said Cartman, clinging closer to Kyle’s arm, eyes half-lidded. Ugh, ugh, _ugh._ Kyle’s cheeks were on fire, as they passed by a few aisles of the Target. Not _this_ again. He probably thought them going out to eat afterwards, was a _date_ or something, too. He could have nudged him away, Kyle supposed, but it was probably a futile point. Besides, as clingy as he was, he wasn’t really doing any _harm,_ even if Kyle really hoped no one they knew would be around to see Eric Cartman all cozied up to him.

A sharp whistle and a laugh pierced through Kyle’s ears, and he turned on his heel, to see whoever the noise had come from. Motherfucking _Kenny._ Kyle hadn’t realized he was taking an earlier shift, in electronics, that night. The name-tag drooping from his bright red polo shirt read “KENNETH”, and if he hadn’t already been distracted by the fact he’d been caught with Cartman attached to his arm, he’d _definitely_ have teased him for it.

_“So…”_ he said, eying the pair up and down. “What’s _this?”_

Kyle shook his arm, Cartman letting go in an instant. The other boy swallowed deeply, a sheepish look on his face, as he wandered off towards the shelves stocked with video games. “What’s _what?”_

“Aw, _Kyle,”_ Kenny grinned when Cartman was out of eyeshot. “You took your chubby little boyfriend out on a _shopping_ date!”

_“Fuck off,”_ Kyle glared. “These gifts are all for Hanukkah.”

“How many are for Cartman?”

_“None,”_ Kyle seethed. “Why are you and Stan suddenly on my _case,_ about this? So, _what,_ if we hang-out sometimes, or I give him rides, or whatever. Me and Cartman are… _fri…”_

Now, _there_ was a word that had never quite...seemed to fit whatever _relationship,_ he had established with Cartman.

_“...friends?”_

Kyle bit his lip. “Yeah, sure, whatever. We’re just hanging-out, Kenny.”

“I thought you _hated_ Cartman,” Kenny leaned up against the counter of the electronics desk.

“I don’t... _hate,_ him, per say,” Kyle stammered. “He’s just kinda... _unavoidable._ Always in my face. Asking for _help,_ asking for _rides…”_

“Kyle, you have the power to say ‘no’. And I know you do because you tell _other_ people ‘no’ all the time. You tell hot _girls,_ ‘no’, to prioritize Cartman, which is funny, ‘cause you used to tell _him_ ‘no’, _all the time,”_ said Kenny, with a shrug. “Have you two ever considered how much _easier_ your relationship would be if you just admitted you _like_ each other?”

The blood from Kyle’s face completely drained. “It’s not like that. He’s just clingy to piss me off, Kenny, I mean, it’s not _anything,_ like that.”

“Like _what?”_

Kyle shook his head, preparing to turn on his heel. “Like... _that._ Like...like, anything that goes beyond...you know, _whatever.”_

_“Kyle,”_ said Kenny, softly, before the other could completely turn and walk away. “The fact you can’t even call you and Cartman _‘friends’,_ should say a lot.”

Kyle swallowed, turning on his heel, without another word on the subject. There was nothing left to say; he kept burying himself deeper, and deeper into a hole. _“We have to go.”_

 

* * *

 

He’d never particularly considered PF Chang’s to be a _romantic_ restaurant, but Kyle supposed it _could_ be, under the right circumstances, of course. Definitely, not as “datey”, as that restaurant in Denver, that Stan was dragging him to in a week or so, was going to be. The one they were supposed to double-date with. Stan and _Wendy,_ he and _Bebe…_

Kyle didn’t know why he hadn’t just agreed to go to Denny’s, or even a fucking McDonald’s, as Cartman would have been fine with either. But he had just wanted to see him sit down for once, and take his time, and eat something _real,_ instead of either pigging out with Stan and Kenny, or what he assumed his home life was like — packaged noodles and a side of cigarette smoke, for dinner.

“I didn’t know you were so into journalling,” said Kyle, picking at his stir-fry, with a pair of chopsticks. He prided himself on being the only one of his friends who could use chopsticks. Well, that was, at least, until Kenny had briefly worked at City Wok. But still, Kyle was the first. “That’s actually kinda cool.”

“Yeah, well…” said Cartman, finishing up his noodles. “I, uh...did it sometimes, as a kid, just for fun or whatever, but when I started going to therapy in seventh grade, my therapist made me write in a journal daily.”

_“Really?”_ Kyle blinked. Cartman _never_ talked about therapy with him. “Did it help?”

“You tell me,” he mumbled. “Am I, uh... _better?”_

Kyle nodded softly. “Uh, yeah...I think in a lot of ways, you’re better,” he hesitated, picking out his next words, very carefully. “I, uh...I’m _glad_ you go to a therapist.”

_“Really?”_ Cartman asked, putting down his fork, then crinkling his nose. “Why?”

“It’s good for you, obviously,” Kyle shrugged, clearing his throat. “I mean, uh, yeah. It’s good that you...y’know...have a _journal,_ go to a therapist, it’s all really, _really_ good for you.”

“I don’t anymore.”

Kyle looked up from his bowl. “Wait, journalling? Or therapy?”

_“Both,”_ Cartman looked down.

_“Why?”_

“I lost my journal, remember?” Cartman’s cheeks were flushed. “And, uh...I dunno. Bill thinks therapy is for “pussy fags” and it’s a “scam”, so my mom won’t pay for it anymore.”

Kyle’s tightened grip around his chopsticks became so _strong,_ he had to consciously try not to snap them both into four, equal parts. “He said, _what?”_

“It’s not that big of a deal, Kyle,” he insisted, in a fluster. “I mean, maybe he’s right. Therapy _is_ for pussies, I guess.”

“Did _you, personally,_ find that therapy helped you?” Kyle asked, firmly.

Cartman locked eyes with him, and those eyes were so fucking blue and so fucking _full,_ and when he opened his mouth for once, out poured complete honesty. _“Yeah.”_

Kyle pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and pulling up the contacts app.

_“Kyle?”_

“Hold on,” he said, selecting a phone number out of Denver.

“Kyle, what are—”

“My dad has a really good health insurance plan, with his law firm,” Kyle cleared his throat. “It comes with a family therapist, and I’ve gone to her a few times, but... _you_ can use her. You _should_ use her.”

“No, Kyle, it’s—”

“Well, what’s your other option? _Mackey?”_ asked Kyle, eyes wide, as he took him by the hand. “You shouldn’t have to stop getting help, just because some fucking tool started dating your mom, and thinks _he_ gets to call all the shots. This is for _you.”_

Cartman’s eyes were a little shiny. “But...I’m not a family member.”

“Who _cares?”_ Kyle scoffed. “Just say you’re me.”

“Uh, she might pick up right away, that I’m not _Kyle Broflovski.”_

“Then, fine,” Kyle sighed. “Say your name is “Eric Broflovski”, and if anyone gives you shit for it...well, I’ll be there, anyway, cause it’s in Denver, so…”

_Eric Broflovski._ It was an enticing concept. “I’d need a _ride…”_

“Yeah, I know, _exactly,”_ nodded Kyle. “You have _me.”_

Cartman cleared his throat, wiping off his eyes off, onto the back of his sleeve. _“Thank-you,_ Kyle.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyle blushed, focusing back on his food. “It’s no big deal.”

No, they weren’t a couple, and it wasn’t a date, but it didn’t mean Kyle didn’t _care_ about Eric Cartman. Hell, he’d even let him fall asleep on his shoulder, on the car ride back home.

He didn’t mind.

And even if he was feeling things that he’d never be able to explain or anticipate, he’d be alright. Soon he’d be out with Stan and Wendy, on a date with Bebe, and maybe then, he’d be able to escape those... _weird_ feelings. Really, nothing revolving around him and _Cartman_ was ever going to play out. Not in _that_ way, because he wasn’t about to feel that way for another guy. Especially not _Eric Cartman._

Kyle wanted to believe he was the master of his own fate, but things like this made him question that logic. Things like his feelings getting out of control, and expanding and taking over his life.

He’d just have to push back. Take back control of his feelings once more. It wasn't a _choice._

 

* * *

 

 

Plans were harder to solidify with the holidays approaching, but by the end of November, everyone’s schedules had perfectly aligned. Kyle had a basketball game that Friday night, and he wanted _everyone_ to attend. After all, it had been his best season so far. And only one of his... _“friends”,_  had yet to see him play.

_Stan_ actually played chauffeur, this time around. He’d brought Wendy with him, decked out in her cheer-gear, underneath a big, warm coat, so Kenny and Eric were stuck in the backseat. Eric had worn the scarf, again. It was so warm and so soft, and it smelled like Kyle and his cologne and everything he loved and held sacred to himself.

There was one memory of Kyle, that was so small and so simple, but Eric had always held close to his heart. It was way back, around the sixth grade. Stan and Kyle had gotten into a trivial argument, and decided the only way to resolve it, would be to race bikes, down a nearby hill. Kyle had thought it was a “stupid fucking idea”, but then Stan had accused him of backing down from the argument, and Kenny thought it would be “super fucking awesome, dude!” and Eric himself, _loved_ watching Stan and Kyle fight, so...the race was _on._

And like in any other, _classic,_ Stan Vs. Kyle battle, Eric sided with Kyle. Kyle, who was a complete idiot loser, for wearing a bike helmet _over his ushanka._ Why couldn’t he just take it off? He _liked_ Kyle’s hair. Eric had always ripped on Kyle for his bright, red, curls, but he started realizing, into...maybe the fifth grade...a whole lot of his anger, and disdain towards Kyle was because he blamed him for the very thing, that was going to take control and ruin his whole fucking life.

He was in love with Kyle.

Shit, the thought in itself _hurt._ To make matters, about, ten times worse, he was being raised by a lazy, ignorant, crackwhore. If she had known about his _undying,_ gay crush on the only Jewish boy in town...well he didn’t know if she’d be disappointed, or if she was so far gone by that point, she wouldn’t even _care_ enough to _be_ disappointed.

Either way, he blamed Kyle for all of it. After all, was it _his_ fault, that Kyle had sparkling, bright green eyes? _His_ fault, Kyle was the only boy in town, unafraid to consistently go against the grain? And was it his fault, either, that Kyle was the _only_ one to hold him to some standard, to maintain some real _faith_ in him, no matter how many times he’d fucked up, the first person to ever just let him _cry_ into his shoulder, and stroke his back? Not even his _mother_ did that. Liane’s idea of comfort was stuffing him with junk food or buying him whatever new toy he’d wanted, so he’d just stop whining. Eric was a _brat,_ and he’d never admit it to Kyle’s face, but he’d take being wrapped up around his arms any day, over his “favourite food” or a new video game.

He was becoming more and more aware of these feelings. It was something he was trying to hide, though it was inevitable. But at that moment, he was really just _living_ for the Stan and Kyle drama. Any time those two fought, Kyle instantly ran to _his_ side. Yeah, it was cruel to say he’d wished Stan and Kyle would fight forever, so he could have Kyle all to himself, but he didn’t fucking _care_ if it was cruel, as long as he had _Kyle,_ in any way he wanted him.

_“GO, KYLE! KICK STAN IN THE ASS!”_ he’d shouted, pumping a fist in the air. Stan was such a stupid, hippie loser. Why the ever aggressive and somewhat insensitive Kyle Broflovski would ever want to be Stan’s “super best-friend”, was unbeknownst to Eric. Maybe it was because they were both pretentious, to some degree.

Kyle looked over his shoulder, clicking his teeth at him, with a wink, and an enthusiastic grin. _“I will.”_

It was even the smallest bit of weird, flirtatious attention that he’d occasionally receive from Kyle, that truly sent shivers down his spine and made his entire body break out in goosebumps. It reminded him of when they were kids, and he’d dance around in a wig, with elaborate makeup, and they’d play games where Stan was his ex-lover, and he was leaving him for Kyle, and he’d think to himself about what it would truly be _like_ to receive romantic attention from someone as perfectly dreamy as... _Kyle._

So a wink and a grin from him? God, he must have written _10-full-pages_ in his diary about how good Kyle looked that day and how badly he wanted to kiss him and about the way Kyle had totally crashed his bike and fucked-up his shin, so they’d spent the rest of the afternoon, sitting inside, sucking on popsicles sticks and playing the XBOX. Kyle and Eric _loved_ playing XBOX.

It was stuff like that. And stuff like, that time back in the eighth grade, when Kyle had found Eric in the middle of a meltdown, over a bad science mark, and had tutored him for an entire month — just out of the kindness of his heart — that made him want to _change._ It was that, and a combination of therapy twice, and then once a week as things improved, that turned him into a better person. The type of person he hoped, that a person like Kyle could love, someday.

The three boys, sat up in the bleachers, a few rows back. They had a better view of the court from a bit higher up. Kenny sat in the middle, with Eric at his side, and Stan on the other end, cheering for Wendy, as she directed the squad through a routine. Eric had only been to two Denver Nuggets games in his life. The most recent one, a few years back, when Kyle had scored courtside tickets. The first time being, that one time he’d falsely-professed his love for Kyle on live television, in order to set-up Token and Nichole. But, of course, every joke is half-true. That joke in _particular,_ might have been a _little_ more than just _half_ -true…

In order words, Eric knew little to none about basketball. He’d literally just shown-up to see _him,_ in all of his glory. There were no hats allowed on the court, so Kyle was essentially forced to show-up, sans ushanka, and Eric’s whole body melted into his seat on the bleachers. He was fast, and agile, and so smooth, and had he mentioned, _toned?_ If Kyle had really _wanted_ to, he _could_ have carried Eric home, that one night. He wasn’t bulky or overly muscular, but he was toned, and last summer, when the four boys, along with Butters, had gone on an impromptu trip to the lake...Eric had gotten several good glimpses of Kyle shirtless, and _wowie._ His arms, biceps, chest... _perfect._

Kyle was something of a dream-boy, to Eric. It should have been illegal to be _that_ perfect. Eric had reminisced all week, about Kyle and how sweet he was and how he let him be cuddly, because he literally couldn’t fucking _help_ but want to be _thisclose_ to Kyle at all times, and Kyle cared about his mental health and paid for his dinner, because he had no money and...he knew Kyle deserved _better._ Kyle deserved nothing and _no one,_ but the best. Someone who could look cute, with arms wrapped around his, someone who would buy him gifts and bring him soup when he was sick and kiss each and every freckle on his body, and bandage all his scrapes and bruises and basketball injuries; someone smart and talented enough to go off to Columbia with him and raise intelligent, precious little _children_ with him.

But, hey, that couldn’t stop Eric from dreaming.

_“Hey,”_ said Kenny, in a whisper, nudging Eric. “Aren’t you gonna go cheer on your _boyfriend?”_

Eric wasn’t paying attention, chin resting in the palms of his hands, eyes glued to Kyle. _“Hmm.”_

_“Cartman,”_ Kenny laughed. “What, are you _actually_ sitting here, daydreaming about _Broflovski?”_

Eric blinked, eyes darting between the court and Kenny’s amused stare. “No, _what?_ What’d you say?”

“It’s okay,” Kenny grinned. “Just forget about it.”

The buzzer rang, signifying half-time, and all the players rushed off to the sidelines. Kyle looked up into the crowd, and when Eric locked eyes with his, he smiled softly, giving him a small wave. Eric’s insides went all soft and gooey and he tried his best not to have a _heart-attack,_ right on the spot.

But before Kyle could make his way off the court to visit the others, he was stopped by Bebe. Bebe, the gorgeous, _voluptuous_ and _popular_ cheerleader. A _girl._ _Girls_  were Kyle’s only type, Eric was certain. She wrapped her arm, around his left side, chatting enthusiastically about something Eric couldn’t hear from that distance. He felt his stomach twist into knots, he feared would never come untangled.

_“Cartman?”_ Kenny asked, nudging him in the ribs. “Dude, you okay?”

“What are they _doing?”_ he pointed towards Kyle and Bebe, heart pounding loudly enough to be heard from his chest.

“Kyle and _Bebe?”_

“They’re going out,” said Stan, standing-up, to slip by him and Kenny.

_“WHAT?”_

“Yeah,” Stan shrugged. “We’re driving out to Denver after this, for a double date at that new gourmet restaurant, or whatever? Wendy’s idea.”

“What do you _mean,_ they’re going out?” Eric asked, voice raised with concern.

“I dunno, dude, _geez!”_ said Stan. “I asked if Kyle was open to the idea of going on a _date_ with Bebe, and he said ‘yes’. It’s really, very _simple.”_ He shook his head, climbing past the other two, to go greet his girlfriend.

And _Bebe still had her arm around Kyle’s._

“Wow,” Kenny laughed. “That’s hilarious. I thought he, like, truly didn’t give a _shit_ about dating Bebe, b—”

He didn’t bother staying around to hear the rest. Eric rose to his feet, pushing past people standing around on the steps of the bleachers, and headed downwards.

_“Cartman?”_

He heard Kyle call his name, and watched as the other boy separated himself from Bebe, but Eric just pushed past more crowds of people, into the hallway. And when he got into the hallway, he didn’t stick around, he sucked in a deep breath, making his way to the first floor washroom, where he could cry in peace, because he fucking _hated_ crying and it made him look like such a fucking pussy and no _wonder,_ Bill had whacked him across the face with a beer bottle, when he was acting like such a fucking _pussy._ He slammed open the door to the washroom and crawled into a corner, huddled with his legs together, letting out a long sob.

Just like sincere smiles from Eric, his real sobs were no production either. He pulled his legs in closer, face down into his old, maroon hoodie, feeling the fabric soak with tears. The soft, fragrant fabric of Kyle’s scarf, soaked up his tears, and he wanted to throw it away, right then and there, but he never would. If only he’d been good. If only he’d been _right._ If only he hadn’t been born, broken from the start; then maybe he’d be good and he could love Kyle and be loved; maybe if he had been a girl, but it didn’t _matter,_ because he _hadn’t._

It was the reason he’d avoided Kyle, the moment he returned from... _that summer._ He didn’t like thinking about that summer. It was the summer, he’d realized, in a big way, that Kyle wasn’t his and he had to let go. It had been drilled into his fucking _head,_ by people he didn’t like to think about, and by himself, the minute he’d gotten back to South Park. Kyle was someone else’s reality. Tonight, he was Bebe’s. Tomorrow, next week, next year, who _knew,_ maybe he’d be someone else’s. But he’d never be _Eric’s._

_“Cartman?”_ another voice filled the room, and he heard the door slamming shut behind him. _“Dude,_ why’d you…”

He tried silencing his tears, peeking up from his hoodie, where a wide-eyed Kenny stood in front of him. “Oh my god, Cartman, _are you okay?”_

It was such a familiar phrase. One, he'd most often heard from _Kyle,_ and his emerald eyes would flicker and his brows would cross together, and Eric liked Kenny, yes, but it only made him hurt more and his stupid, fucking, _idiot_ heart, ached for Kyle.

_“I’m fine,”_ he snapped.

“Clearly fucking _not!”_ said Kenny, running into a bathroom stall for a bunched-up sheth of toilet paper. _“Here._ Blow your nose, dude, Jesus _Christ.”_

He swiped at the tissue, wiping away loose tears, voice still heaving in his chest.

“What’s going on?” Kenny hesitated. “You know, uh...I really didn’t mean to bother you and Kyle about hanging-out, or whatever. I think it’s cool you guys are... _friends.”_

“We’re _not_ friends,” said Eric, attempting to breathe steadily. “Me and Kyle will _never_ be friends.”

“Believe me, _I know,”_ Kenny laughed, sympathetically. “So, then what’s the deal?”

Eric rested his face back up against his arms, salty tears, flowing endlessly down his red cheeks. He swallowed loudly, breath catching in his chest.

_“I love him.”_

Kenny’s face softened, and he pulled Eric into a hug, rubbing his back as he sobbed harder, into his chest. He wasn’t Kyle, but _no one_ was Kyle, and this was good enough. _“It’s okay,”_ Kenny insisted, shhhing him, and reaching back into his pockets, for his pack of smokes and a lighter. “I know. I _know._ And you’ve made it this far, Cartman. You’re gonna be alright.”

So the two sat and chain-smoked in the bathroom until the lights flickered off and that meant it was time to go home. Kyle might have texted Eric, but he wouldn’t know. He went straight to bed that night, pillow thrust over his head to block out the sound of fighting in the kitchen and the loud pounding sound, that wouldn’t escape from his head.

Eric Cartman could act as rude, uncaring and selfishly as he pleased, but at his core, he was _weak._ It had taken maybe three sentences from Stan fucking Marsh, to break him down and send him into a messy fit of sobs and pathetic tears. There were no desperate embraces in unrequited love stories; there were no long-awaited, and passionate kisses, shared under a starry sky, transcending into warm, pastel sunrises; no waking-up in someone’s arms, if they didn’t love you back. Had he been a fucking _idiot_ to maintain faith, that Kyle _did_ care?

Eric closed his eyes, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep, before he could reflect on the answer.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this very late update is brought to u by a poor combination the naruto theme being stuck in my head for hours and my shitty sleeping pattern. rip lai. next chapter SHOULD be out the 20th (fri), as scheduled. if not, the 21st (sat) or 22nd (sun). my apologies.
> 
> recap: kyle and cartman went to the mall, but it definitely wasn't a date. cartman also found-out that kyle was going on a DATE and like. got v sad...so yeah, now ur caught-up.
> 
> also, WE HAVE MORE FANART??? my homegirl bella drew the loveliest art and y'all can find it right here @ [the-milk-was-expired](https://the-milk-was-expired.tumblr.com/post/175768473245/kylebiased-i-finally-got-around-to-drawing-a/)
> 
> anotha s/o to Creatortan for partially inspiring ch10, w/ her one-shot/fic [Playing House](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765531/chapters/34146143/), which u should definitely read bc it's just wholesome and sweet as fuck and i know we all love some pure sp content up in here !!
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

Something about the look of desperation in Eric Cartman’s eyes kept Kyle from thinking of anything else but _him,_ that evening.

Had those been _tears?_ Tears, welling-up in his big, blue eyes? Kyle felt a lump forming in his throat, just _thinking_ about the way he’d looked, tearing down the bleachers, and out of the gym. When had Eric _ever_ ignored attention from Kyle? _Never._ He _never_ ran from him, if he had the chance. Especially not if _Kyle_ initiated it. He _loved_ Kyle’s attention. He soaked it up, he revelled in it, if Kyle was the Sun, then he _basked_ in Kyle’s attention. And for some, odd, reason, for some _godforsaken_ reason, Kyle didn’t want it any other way.

So, he stood under the shower, after the game, cleaning himself off and preparing for a date he barely even wanted to go on, to prove he _didn’t_ care about someone he obviously cared all too much for, while still _thinking_ about that very person. What had happened to Eric, to worry that face? Who and _what_ had hurt him? More importantly, who did Kyle have to _hurt_ in return, to settle the score? Sure, Eric Cartman was fucked up, but Kyle had always felt weirdly protective and responsible for his well-being, which was odd, because back in the third grade, Kyle had made a hobby out of picking on Cartman, until the tables had turned, and the score began to even out. Maybe their entire _relationship_ was just fucked-up, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t completely and totally addicted and _no one_ was allowed to put a damn _finger_ on Eric Cartman, if Kyle Broflovski said so, and if Kyle Broflovski could control it, _no one would._

He wrapped a towel around his body, splashing some cool water on his face, in a poor attempt to relax a little bit; take some of the redness out of his flushed cheeks. He studied his body in the mirror, rubbing tenderly at a sore spot on his shoulder. He and Cartman, couldn’t look more different. Where Kyle was toned, and taller, Eric was shorter than him and soft and chubby. Which Kyle didn’t find unattractive, either. In fact, he thought it was kinda cute, and Eric had sweet, sky-coloured eyes too, that melted his heart and did strange things to his stomach.

Holy shit, had the entire world been flipped upside down? Kyle was about to go out, with one of the _hottest,_ more desirable _girls,_ in his entire school, and he was still focused on _Eric Cartman?_ Why was it _always_ this way? When choosing between female attention and Cartman, he most often picked _Cartman._ Kyle swallowed the lump in his throat, heading back into the locker room, for his clothing.

_“Hey,”_ said Token, slapping him on the back. “You played a _great_ ga—”

“Have you seen Car— _Stan?”_ Kyle hesitated. “I need to find Stan.”

“Yeah, he’s waiting outside,” Token shrugged, changing the subject. “So, you and Bebe are finally back together?”

_“HA!”_ Kyle chortled, throwing a clean, navy blue sweater, over an undershirt. “We were barely even together in the _first_ place.”

“Yeah, but it’s all anyone’s been talking about today,” he clicked his tongue. “Kyle and Bebe, _all_ over again. Maybe you’ll actually put out this time.”

Kyle grit his teeth together, shutting his locker with a slam. “Yeah. _Maybe.”_ He stormed off in the other direction, listening to Token’s shouts from behind him.

“Kyle, I was just kidding, man!”

He didn’t have the _time_ to care.

“Kyle, what the _fuck?”_ Stan asked, falling into step beside him, as Kyle exited the locker-room, and they strode down the hall, to Kyle’s car, where the girls waited. Kyle had given Stan his keys. “You didn’t even wash your hair, and you’re still wearing _that_ thing?”

_“You_ don’t have to deal with my hair, so shut-up,” Kyle snapped. _“What_ thing?”

“That stupid hat,” Stan scoffed. “It’s an _expensive_ restaurant.”

“Yeah, exactly, so if I wanna wear my “stupid” hat, then I will,” Kyle glared, as they approached the front doors. “If I’m paying a small fortune for dinner, I’ll wear what I want.”

Stan took a deep breath out, grabbing Kyle’s jacket by the sleeve. “Dude, if you don’t wanna do this, why don’t you just tell me?”

“I _do_ wanna do this,” Kyle insisted. “I just don’t know why you’re suddenly policing my wardrobe.”

“I’m _not,”_ Stan hesitated. “But Wendy’ll be embarrassed if we go in and you’re wearing a _snow hat.”_

Kyle blinked, as they approached his car. _“How_ long have we known each other for? It’s called an ‘ushanka’?”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Dude, it’s just a suggestion.”

_“Fine,”_ Kyle sighed, climbing into the passenger seat. He tentatively pulled his ushanka off, running a hand through the dark red curls, that hung around his face. He was lucky that some of the weight prevented puffiness, but being insecure about his hair since childhood, he still resorted to the ushanka as a backup plan.

Bebe was seated next to him, head turned back around, to chat with Wendy in the backseat. They eyed each other briefly, Bebe then turning back around, to face Kyle. _“Hey,_ good game.”

_“Thanks,”_ he said, biting his lip and throwing the car into park. “So...where to?”

 

* * *

 

Kyle didn’t want to say things went _badly,_ because they didn’t. It was just that nothing _happened._

The girls and Stan maintained conversation, all the way to Denver, and all throughout the actual “date”, and all the way back home. Kyle wasn’t purposely being excluded; they’d tried asking him questions and including him in the discussion, but he truly had nothing to say. He couldn’t even _force_ himself to think of anything to say. Stan enthusiastically ordered a specialized vegan entre, some kind of pasta. Kyle hadn’t even noticed what the girls had ordered. He’d barely even noticed when Wendy asked him about the debate tournament getting postponed, or the bake sale plans for student gov. He hadn’t even noticed or been all that impressed, when Bebe ordered a glass of wine, with a fake ID, that Wendy both commended and scolded her for. He barely even _touched_ his $25-dinner.

Kyle _knew_ he had a problem, when not even halfway through, he reached for his phone under the table and typed out a message:

 

_What happened??? Are you ok?????_ |

 

No, it sounded too desperate. Too many question marks. A _gross_ amount of question marks. He sounded like a _freak._

 

_What happened??? Are you o_ |

 

That was when Stan had given him a dirty look, and Kyle clicked his phone shut.

At the end of the night, Kyle slipped his army green ushanka back over his curls. It was too chilly to go hatless, anyway. On the late ride home, Bebe had ended up a little bit tipsy and rested her head against Kyle’s shoulder. Was it weird to say it felt like _cheating?_ “Thanks, Kyle,” said a tired Bebe, cheek rubbing up against his jacket. _“We owe ya.”_

Kyle dropped the girls off first, Stan last. He’d snuck some liquor with Bebe, and was a bit drunk, lazily resting, behind Kyle, in the back of the car.

“Dude...you’re _weird.”_

Kyle swallowed, turning around to Stan, in the backseat. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Stan laughed. “I set you up, with the hottest girl in our grade, and you just...you were texting _Cartman,_ right?”

Kyle scoffed. “Why do you guys think my _entire life_ revolves around Cartman?”

“Because it _does,”_ he rolled his eyes, drunkenly leaned up against the window.

“Alright, well, _you’re_ obviously drunk,” Kyle sighed, watching Stan sit up straight and glare in his direction. “Do you need me to walk you?”

_“No,”_ said Stan, clicking open the car door. Wendy had been dropped off back school with Bebe, so they could drive home with Stan’s car. He’d pick it up the next day. _“Good-night.”_

Kyle waited for him to enter the house, before tentatively pulling away. His untouched leftovers, sat in the seat next to him, and the dashboard read ‘11:47PM’. He was relieved it was a Friday, because Kyle was _exhausted,_ both physically _and_ mentally…

...oh, but Eric Cartman’s house was _so_ close…

He pulled up by their house, checking the driveway for a beat-up pickup truck. All that remained in the driveway was Liane’s old SUV. It was a risky move, knowing that Cartman’s home life was unstable as it was, even if not having the full details, but Kyle pulled in.

He grabbed his overpriced dinner and closed the door behind him. The light in Cartman’s room was turned off, but it wouldn’t stop Kyle from seeing him. It was a slightly cloudy night, but no snow to worry about.

 

**11:48 PM  
** Are you up??

 

No reply. Kyle sighed, hating to have to resort to calling, but he called, and received no answer, to his dismay. _For_ fuck’s _sake,_ Kyle thought to himself, gritting his teeth together. He placed the wrapped meal onto the ground, grabbing a handful of snow and balling it all together, then chucking it _hard_ at Cartman’s window. When he received no answer, he threw a few more snowballs, getting more and more frustrated, as he went. The rest of the neighbourhood had put up Christmas lights by then, but Cartman’s house remained barren.

At last, the window flew open, and a sleepy-looking Eric Cartman popped his head out the window, rubbing his eyes. His voice got stuck in his throat at the sight of _Kyle Broflovski,_ but Kyle couldn’t tell, of course, _why._

_“What?”_ he asked, voice a little wavy.

“I...have something _for_ you,” Kyle hesitated. This felt _weird._

“I’m was trying to _sleep,_ Kyle…” Eric said, looking away.

“I just got back from fucking _Denver,”_ Kyle sighed. “Come _on.”_

Cartman mumbled something Kyle couldn’t make out as anything but pure gibberish, and he sighed in return. “Just come downstairs,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Cartman shot him a look of confusion. _“Fine…”_ He closed the window, stepping away.

Kyle picked up the bagged food, making his way to Cartman’s front door. He tapped his foot, impatiently, sighing to himself for being such a _sucker,_ and wasting time he could be spending on sleep, on contributing to Eric’s dietary issues.

The door opened slowly, and Eric peeked his head out, tentatively. His cheeks looked red and puffy and his eyes were a little bloodshot.

_“Hey…”_ Kyle stammered, concern growing at the sight of the other boy. “So...I know it’s kinda late, but...I brought you dinner.”

Cartman’s eyes went wide, and he opened the door all the way. He was wearing a pair of old pyjama bottoms, paired with the same hoodie he’d worn earlier that day. “You _did?”_

“Yeah, well…” Kyle exhaled. “I was at the restaurant and I dunno, it wasn’t really my thing, but...I figured you might not have eaten yet, so... _yeah…”_

“Yeah, uh...” he said, as Kyle hesitantly stepped up into the doorframe, trailing behind him. “I _am_ starving.”

“Great,” Kyle muttered, closing the front door behind him. The living room remained darkened, but Cartman had turned on a light in the kitchen, so Kyle followed him back there, dropping the food onto the countertop, with a thud. Cartman tugged open at the bag, unwrapped its contents, and pulling out an overly decorative container.

“Is this _lobster?”_

“Yeah,” Kyle shrugged. “I guess I just wasn’t that hungry.”

“But, Kyle...it’s _lobster.”_

He shrugged again, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “Guess I had other things on my mind.”

Cartman swallowed deeply, focusing back on the boxed food in front of him. “So, uh...does that mean you and Bebe are—”

_“Dating?”_ Kyle scoffed. “No. I’m not dating her. I’m not dating _anyone.”_

Cartman turned his head, staring at Kyle in disbelief, then wiping his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie. _“Really?”_

Now in the full light of the Cartmans’ deteriorating kitchen, Kyle could see Eric’s face better. He cheeks _were_ red and puffy, eyes still a bit red around the edges. He narrowed his eyes, at the other boy. “Are you _stoned?!”_

Cartman blinked, rubbing his eyes. “No, what the fuck, Kyle?! I barely have money for fucking ramen, you think I’m buying _weed?”_

“Oh,” Kyle nodded, uncomfortably. “Right. I guess, I just assumed, ‘cause of the cigarettes.”

“Two different things,” Cartman mumbled, observing Kyle’s dinner in awe. “I was _crying.”_

_“Crying?”_ Kyle asked, a lump forming in his throat. _“Why?”_

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Eric eyed him cautiously, then evading his eyes. “Wait, Kyle, did you not eat _anything?”_

Kyle nodded, leaning back up against the fridge. “Like I said, I was distracted.”

Eric just stared at him, eyes trailing back up and down his body like they always did. _“I_ can make you dinner.”

Kyle raised his brows together, standing up straight. “No, Cartman, I...I’m not gonna take any food from you, when you’re—”

“No, really, Kyle, it’s not a big deal,” he insisted, brightly. “I’ll be right back.”

Still hesitant and slightly nervous about what _dinner_ entailed, Kyle drifted into the living room, taking a seat on the couch. He picked up the remote, flipping through a few channels, before settling on some adult cartoon, and lowering the volume. A moment later, he heard Cartman padding down the stairs, holding something crinkly in his hands.

Kyle turned around, narrowing his eyes. “Are ramen noodles all you _eat,_ nowadays?”

“They’re _affordable,_ Kyle,” he shook his head, “Can you even _eat_ lobster, Kyle? You’re Jewish.”

“I’m pretty informal,” he mumbled. “And, you don’t have to _cook_ for me.”

Cartman scoffed. “I’m just trying to settle the _score.”_

_“Fine,”_ Kyle sighed.

And not 15 minutes later, the two sat at the table, having the most bizarre dinner ever. Though Kyle hadn’t had cheap ramen noodles since that summer, when it was just the easiest thing to obtain out of convenience, he enjoyed it. Eric hesitantly picked at his food, being cautious and not at all pigging-out like Kyle had expected of him.

_“What?”_ he asked. “You suddenly don’t like _lobster?_ Shit cost me $25.”

_“No,”_ Cartman glared. “I’m just taking my time, Jesus Christ.”

Kyle nodded. Eating ramen noodles past midnight was definitely going to wreak havoc on his metabolism. “So...where are your pa—...where’s your _mom?”_

“She was here before I fell asleep, so she must have left after that,” Eric simply shrugged, letting out a small sigh. “She could be anywhere. Probably Denver.”

Kyle glanced at him from the side, biting his lip in hesitation, before continuing. “You know, Cartman...you can, um... _tell_ me, if things are going poorly, for you.”

Cartman looked away, with a nervous-sounding laugh. “No, Kyle, everything’s fine. _Really.”_

“Then why were you _crying?”_ Kyle asked. He noticed Eric’s hand, draped against the table, and tentatively laced his fingers around his. “You’ve been doing that a lot, lately.”

Cartman latched on tightly, completely abandoning his food, and resting his face in the palm of his hand, as a poor attempt to hide his _very_ red cheeks. “Uh, well, y’know, it’s just stress.”

“Yeah, but, uh…” Kyle cleared his throat. “I wasn’t kidding about the therapy stuff. I’ll take you to Denver, for that. Weekly, or biweekly, or monthly, _whatever._ It’s important to have someone you can talk to.” It hadn’t naturally come up again in any conversation for awhile, yet.

“I used to do weekly sessions,” Eric nodded, with a cough. _“That_ helped.”

“Then we’ll do weekly sessions,” said Kyle, the two still locking hands. “...Monday or Wednesday?”

“Either is fine,” Cartman swallowed. “You know, you...you don’t have to do that for me, Kyle. I probably don’t deserve it.”

Kyle laughed, leaning closer to him. “What, ‘cause you were the world’s worst _child?_ Yeah, you were terrible, but it’s not your fault your mom is... _your_ mom.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, clutching harder onto Kyle’s hand. “I’m so _sorry,_ Kyle.”

“Yeah, me too,” Kyle bit his lip, holding onto the opposing side of Eric’s hand, with his other, twisting so the two were face-to-face. “We were both pretty terrible to each other.”

“Yeah, but... _I_ was the worst.”

“Oh, yeah, 100%,” Kyle nodded. “But, you know, you’ve gotten better. And you’re gonna _keep_ getting better. It’s alright.”

He smiled, locking eyes with Eric, and sending chills down his spine. Moments like these were becoming more and more _common,_ between the two.

And Kyle didn’t know it, but Eric had never been more in love.

 

* * *

 

Into the first week of December, Kyle received the best news of his entire life, up until that point.

_“Mom!”_ he shouted, barrelling down the stairs. The snow was falling in fluffy little chunks, his entire house smelled like freshly baked rugelach, and now he’d received just the email he’d been waiting on those past few weeks. “Mom, _listen to this!”_

“What, Kyle, _what?”_ Sheila asked, wiping her hands off on a kitchen towel. “What’s going on?”

_“Look,”_ he said, passing over his iPhone. “It’s _Columbia._ They wanna set-up an interview, before the end of the year.”

His mother beamed, clutching her taller son’s face, around manicured fingers. “Oh, bubbe! I’m so proud of you! See, I always _knew_ you could do it, just _look_ at you!”

His body shook all over, full of the jitters. “I can’t _believe_ it.”

_“I can,”_ she said, pulling him down by his hat, to kiss Kyle’s forehead. “I’m not surprised at _all!_ Did they mention any other details?”

_“Uhhh,”_ said Kyle, scrolling through the email. “Well, I can either do it over Skype, or...in person, on campus, but that’s unrealistic, _so…”_

“You know, your uncle has always offered to fly you and Ikey out for Hanukkah,” Sheila said, focusing back on her baking. “Might be a nice opportunity, to use that to your advantage.”

Kyle could literally _feel_ his heart-rate increase. “Wait...for _real?”_

_“Yes,_ Kyle,” she nodded. “I mean, I don’t think I want you flying anywhere alone with Ike at his age, but I’d be fine sending you on your own. You’re almost an adult.”

He beamed, already getting jittery. _“Really?!”_

Sheila laughed. _“Yes,_ Kyle! What better way to show them you’re a serious candidate, then flying up to the city, and giving a formal interview?”

Kyle practically charged at his mother, wrapping his arms all around her body, tight. “Thank-you, thank-you, _thank-you,_ Mom, I love you!”

“I _know,_ I love you too, Kyle,” she said, squirming away. “But I’m covered in flour!”

He skipped out of the kitchen, gleefully typing-out a responding email, before Sheila could waltz into the living room, and tug on one of his shoulders.

“Kyle, I’m running low on cinnamon, could you run out to the store for me?”

“Yeah, of _course!”_ he grinned, dashing to the closet for his jacket. _“Anything_ for you, Mom, _anything.”_

_“Hurry!”_ she insisted. “I wanna finish another batch tonight, for that holiday bake sale.”

“I’m on it,” Kyle beamed, throwing his jacket on over his arms.

Sheila rolled her eyes with a smile, humming softly and heading back into the kitchen. Kyle was on cloud _nine;_ New York _City_ in the _winter?_ He wasn’t even Christian, but he couldn’t _wait_ to see the huge Christmas tree at Times Square, and go skating in Central Park, and see all of his cousins again...NYC was a truly magical city, and it had put him into a truly magical mood.

So maybe that’s why, driving past Eric Cartman’s house, filled his heart with compassion and warmth, once more. The house that had once been the most festive on the block, sat sad and barren, but it wasn’t _more_ sad and barren than the very boy that lived there.

His mother wouldn’t notice if he stopped and made a quick detour to the mall and back, _right?_

 

* * *

 

At school, the following day, Stan slammed his tray down at the table and made a huge announcement.

“I’m hosting the New Year’s Eve party.”

Well, not _that_ huge, to Kyle.

“I thought that was gonna be hosted by _Token,”_ said Kenny, picking at his sandwich.

“Nah,” Stan shook his head, taking the seat next to Kenny. “We switched. He’s hosting the _Christmas_ party, this year. His parents need their house for some banquet, New Year’s Eve.”

“Wait, when _is_ the Christmas party?” Kyle asked. Stan hadn’t mentioned anything about how poorly their double date had gone, even as a week or two passed by. He had driven Cartman to his first therapy session since, and while it had been sufficiently awkward, waiting in the lobby, while the other boy was probably inside clutching a tissue and divulging into his childhood trauma, the ride home was _nice._ The two just chatted casually and listened to the playlist Eric had made for Kyle, on the way back. Kyle didn’t even mind the number of cheesy love songs, and ballads on it anymore.

“This Friday,” said Stan, popping open a container of what Kyle assumed to be the vegan lunch special. “Booze provided.”

“How did you _not_ know about this?” asked Kenny, head propped up against the back of his hand. “You and Token are on the basketball team together.”

“I dunno,” said Kyle. “I’ve been busy with university shit.”

“When do you leave for your interview?” asked Stan, picking through his stir-fry.

“Last week of December,” said Kyle. “I’m celebrating Hanukkah with my family on the East Coast, a bit late, I guess, but I can’t miss exams.”

“No shit,” Kenny yawned.

And then finally, _he_ arrived. Kyle’s heart pumped out of his chest, as Eric Cartman made his way through the cafeteria. Wasn’t it _weird,_ how he suddenly felt that way, at the mere _sight_ of Cartman? Suddenly, his big, blue eyes, were like magnets, and Kyle couldn’t pull himself away. He thought it was sweet, the way Eric’s thick brown hair, hung in long, silky bangs, over his forehead. And goddamn, it sickened him even to _think,_ this way, but he _liked_ that he was a little shorter, and he was soft, and chubby and wore _Kyle’s_ fucking scarf everywhere he went. It was downright endearing, and even though Kyle wanted to shut himself down, he scooped up his backpack, preparing to his way across the cafeteria, to Cartman.

_“Kyle?”_ Stan blinked.

“Busy,” he said, sliding off the bench, and walking over to where Eric stood by the vending machines.

Cartman turned his head, eyes widening and then going soft, as he peered up in Kyle’s direction. _“Hey.”_

_“Hey,”_ Kyle grinned. “I have something kinda, uh. _For_ you, again.”

Eric’s mouth formed into an ‘o’, as he peered down at Kyle’s bag. “What, _really?”_

“Yes, _really,”_ Kyle said, lightly pulling at the other boy’s sweater. “Come on, I don’t wanna do this in the cafeteria.”

_“Ooh hoo hoo.”_

“Watch it,” Kyle snapped, but soon the two fell into a slow-paced walk with each other, making their way down the hallway, to their lockers. Zipping open his backpack, Kyle reached down inside, for a paper Barnes & Noble bag. He hopped it hadn’t gotten too crinkled up. _“Here.”_

Cartman reached inside, smile spreading across his cheeks, as he pulled out the same journal they’d found at the bookstore, a few weeks ago. _“Kyle!”_

Kyle leaned up against his locker, with a shrug. “Well, you know...you need a new place to write about all your feelings and thoughts and whatever, you _know,_ with the _therapy,_ and I thought—”

Before he could push him off, Eric wrapped his arms all around Kyle’s body, holding him tightly. “You really _do_ care about me.”

“I mean, to _some_ extent,” Kyle said, relieved no one was wondering the hallways. “I mean...you know, you should keep writing, or drawing, or whatever, in a journal. It’s _good_ for you.”

_“‘Dear Diary, Kyle_ cares _about me,’”_ he teased, pulling Kyle even closer into his embrace, partially burying his head, into his sweater.

“Oh, god, don’t start it out like _that,”_ Kyle winced. “That’s not even _journal-worthy.”_

“Isn’t that up to _me?”_

_“Yeah,”_ Kyle sighed, patting him softly on the back. “I guess _so.”_

 

* * *

 

Then came the night of the Christmas party.

Being one of the only Jewish kids in South Park, the other being his adoptive brother, Kyle was used to anything vaguely Holiday-related being labelled as “Christmas”. But Token’s Christmas party truly did _scream_ ‘Christmas’.

There hung mistletoe in every doorway, a great big Christmas tree, sat festively in the home’s atrium, with lights, tinsel and expensive-looking ornaments hung, placed strategically around the branches. The entire house smelled like vanilla and peppermint, and it almost gave Kyle a pinch of nostalgia. If he _did_ move away for school, he’d never get the chance to enjoy one of these sweet, sentimental, holiday parties again. They’d all known each other since childhood, and it was something he’d miss.

_“Kyle!_ Dude, _Kyle!”_ shouted Stan, grabbing him by the shoulder, and dragging him towards the kitchen. “C’mon, we’re doing shots!”

Sweet and sentimental holiday parties. _Funny._

Kyle, instead, made his way into the living room. The entire freaking _school_ had to be there, and Kyle wouldn’t have been shocked if it was true _._ Token’s house was packed; someone’s Spotify playlist on blast, with couples holding Red Solo Cups, and cozying up on the couches, and up against the walls. Taking a seat by himself on the edge of a couch, Kyle held his drink by the ridge, checking his phone out of boredom.

_And_ sincere curiosity.

When he had offered Cartman a ride to the party that night, he’d told Kyle he was “busy” and Kenny and one of his coworkers would take him there on his own. Kyle thought it was weird. Eric Cartman _never_ declined spending any time with him, but if he admitted to Stan that he was saddened by this fact, he’d never hear the end of it.

So, for now, he flipped through random apps on his iPhone, waiting for the ‘we’re here’ text, that he worried would never come.

“Hey.”

Kyle felt a shift of weight on the couch and found himself face-to-face with Bebe. She was wearing a cropped red-knit sweater, paired with a skater skirt and knee-highs. Bebe was _never_ not dressed to the tens; she and Wendy were a powerful pair, _not_ to be reckoned with.

“What’s up?” Kyle hesitated. Their “date” had been a tad awkward, and he hoped Bebe wasn’t affected by it.

_“Nothin’,”_ she shrugged, taking a long sip out of her Red Solo Cup. “I just wanted to apologize, for what I said a while ago...at my bonfire.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kyle nodded. “Well, that was months ago, so it’s cool.”

“No, it’s _not,”_ she said. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I mean, I was drunk, but I should have apologized sooner.”

Kyle tapped a few fingers against his knee, finally asking something that had been weighing on his mind for awhile. “Was it, _you?_ Who, um...wrote that on my car?”

Bebe tugged thoughtfully on a long strand of hair, then narrowing her eyes. “Wrote _what?”_

“The...you know, the _“GET OUT”_ on my car. The prank. Halloween night,” he said, taking a long sip of the weird mix of soda and vodka, he’d poured into his cup. “It was written in lipstick.”

Bebe chortled to herself. “Uhhh, I mean, I think you’re cute, _Kyle,_ but you’re definitely not worth wasting makeup on.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he sighed. “I mean, it has to be _one_ of my exes.”

“Heidi? Nichole? _Lola?_ That girl from _New York?”_

“Nah,” said Kyle, reviewing his short list of ex-things. None of them were particularly _vindictive_ people. Not when they’d been dating, at least. “I mean, _maybe.”_

“You ever consider it’s _not_ an ex?”

He shrugged. “All I know is that when I got back from Denver, it was written on my car.”

“You mean, the night _we_ went out?” Bebe asked, giving him a weird look.

_“No,”_ Kyle sighed. “Halloween night. I was in Denver that night.”

_“Denver?”_ Bebe laughed. “What, were you looking for better _candy?”_

At that moment, as if on cue, Kenny stepped into the room, peeking through the crowd for Kyle. He waved the moment they made eye contact, and right behind him, was Eric Cartman, wearing that same old, maroon hoodie, with Kyle’s scarf draped around his neck. Kyle’s heart pounded hard and fast, and he scolded himself for it.

_“Something_ like that,” Kyle mumbled in a reply to Bebe, then rising to his feet, and making his way over to his friends. He didn’t even _consider_ feeling bad for abandoning their conversation. He had a whole lot of _other_ feelings that were already, _somehow,_ consuming him whole.

_“Hey,”_ he said, approaching the two.

“Yo,” said Kenny. “Have you been _drinking?”_

“Only a bit,” said Kyle, eyes scrolling back over to Eric. He had a woollen hat pulled over his soft, brown hair, in a way that seemed almost...overly intentional. Like, he was _hiding_ something. _“Hey.”_

_“Hey,”_ Cartman uttered, breath only slightly caught in his throat.

“Why didn’t you wanna come with me?”

Eric shrugged. “I had...an _errand_ to run.”

Kyle gave Kenny a look, and he just shrugged in response. “I dunno, dude, we left straight from the mall.”

“Why were you at the _mall?”_

“Yeah, _Cartman,”_ Kenny elbowed him with a wide grin. “Why _were_ you at the mall?”

Eric elbowed Kenny back, face turning a shade of red, that would rival the Christmas tree lights. “Well, uh, Kyle, could I perhaps see you, somewhere a little more _private?”_

Kyle raised a brow, but shrugged. “Yeah... _sure…”_

Kenny winked at him, as he and Cartman headed off in the direction of a bedroom, and Kyle felt his cheeks turn hot. Whatever Eric wanted to show him, he was completely and totally unsure of, so Kyle kept his guard up.

Closing the door behind him, Kyle watched as Eric made his way over to the table-side lamp, and clicked it on, beaming soft, subtle warm light into the room. He slowly made his way over, running his hand across the bed before taking a seat, leaned up against its side, across from the wall. Cartman grinned, taking a seat next to him, and reaching down into the largest pocket of his hoodie for something.

“Oh, Cartman, what are you—”

It was a medium-sized box, wrapped up in shiny, blue paper, with gold ribbon. Kyle’s eyes went wide, and he took it in his hands.

“For _me?”_

“Happy Hanukkah.”

“Hanukkah starts _tomorrow.”_

“Yeah, well, I can always take it back if you want.”

“No, no, _don’t,”_ said Kyle. The two leaned in close to each other, Eric pulling his legs up to his chest, with a grin. It was wrapped so nicely, Kyle was almost hesitant to open it. “What _is_ it?”

“Why do you think I _wrapped_ it, Kyle?!”

_“Alright, alright!”_ Kyle laughed, tearing at the paper. He tossed it aside on the floor, then pulling at the edges of the box. His hands came into contact with soft wool, and he pulled a knit, green scarf, out of the packaging.

“A _scarf?”_

“You don’t _like_ it?” Cartman raised an eyebrow. “I bought it, to, you know...because you gave me _your_ scarf, and it matches your hat, and—”

“I love it.”

Eric beamed, his face stretching into a small smile. He looked so sweet and so _earnest_ in that moment. Kyle never wanted it to end. _“Really?”_

Kyle nodded, pulling the soft material around his neck, adjusting the scarf’s placement. It was warm, and soft against his skin, and he could tell right away, it had cost a small fortune. “You didn’t have to do this for me, Cartman. I _have_ other scarves.”

He shrugged shyly. “I _wanted_ to.”

Kyle moved in closer, eyes scanning over Eric’s face. The light from the lamp backlit his entire body. All his features were so nice, and soft, and it made Kyle feel warm inside and everything was just light and dreamy and surreal.

He wondered when it had become so easy, to feel that way.

And then he noticed what was _wrong._

_“Cartman?”_ he asked, peering at his forehead, covered only by a thinly knit hat. “Are you _bleeding?”_

_“No,”_ he said, pulling the hat further over his head. _“Fuck._ I mean, maybe a little bit.”

Kyle tugged his hands away, then cautiously pulling at the edges of fabric, to reveal a large, bleeding bruise, on the left side of Eric’s forehead. It was so big, that Kyle almost gasped, but stopped himself, in an attempt not to freak the other boy out. He gritted his teeth together, instantaneously knowing, this bruise had been no _accident._ Someone had _hurt_ him. _“Who?”_

“Who, _what?”_ Cartman asked as Kyle pushed his hair aside, wiping some of the blood off onto the back of his hand.

“How recent is this?”

Eric swallowed, head leaning forward. “A few hours ago, it’s...it’s not that _bad,_ but it just keeps opening…”

Kyle lifted up his face, hands clutched around his chin. He locked eyes with Eric, a large lump forming in his throat, just _looking_ at the pure desperation cemented into those big, baby blues. “I need you to tell me, who _did_ this to you.”

Cartman bit his lip, eyes never straying from Kyle’s. _“Why?”_

“Why do you _think?”_ Kyle asked, breath shaking, Eric’s knees leaning inward, onto his lap, with a few loose tears, streaking down his face. Kyle swiped his thumbs across Eric’s cheeks, pulling him in closer. “I _do_ care about you.”

_“Kyle…”_

“I _worry_ about you,” Kyle said, eyes half-lidded. Eric reached out, softly gripping onto Kyle’s arms for support. “I think about you, all the _time, Cartman…”_

Eric swallowed deeply again, eyes lost in all of Kyle’s features. “You _care?”_

“Who’s _doing_ these things to you?” Kyle asked, voice thick with concern. “Cartman, you _have_ to tell me. You and I both know, _I_ know, but you have to be honest with me because I fucking _care.”_

_“Mom’s boyfriend,”_ he admitted, in a low-tone, looking back down again.

Kyle tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, staring Eric directly in the eyes, and urging himself to remain calm. _“What happened?”_

“Kyle, _really,”_ he insisted. “I don’t wanna talk about it. I _can’t._ I just...can we just…”

“Can we _what?”_

“Stay _here,”_ Eric sniffled. “I just...I don’t wanna fucking talk about it.”

“It’s fine,” Kyle nodded, wiping away the other boy’s tears, with the side of his thumbs. “It’s gonna be alright.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, face to face, legs tangled up together, before Eric looked back up again, eyes filled with the distinct look of both hope, and desperation. “You really _care_ about me, huh?”

Kyle was sucked back in. He was sucked back in, with such great force, _he_ was almost tempted to complete the one action that Eric Cartman had desired more than anything he could possibly expect, or dream of, from Kyle Broflovski...something soft and sweet, he’d dreamt of, even as a kid, and it could _happen_ by then. “I care about you, a whole fucking _lot,”_ Kyle breathed. “More than I should, sometimes, but I _do.”_

Eric smiled, Kyle moving further inwards until they were close enough to hear each other’s heartbeats. It felt like an entire flashback, to Halloween night, except maybe, there had been one thing Kyle should have done that night, that he didn’t. He ran his hand across the side of Eric’s cheek, watching as his cheeks turned a deep shade of red, and he smelled just like peppermint. Kyle grinned lazily, softly gripping Eric’s chin, and holding it up, second hand placed on the back of his neck. The world felt smooth, and steady and slow, everything was hazy, and they were living in a dreamlike existence, and maybe finally the timing was perfect.

_"Kyle,_ I'm—"

_“HEY!”_

Kyle blinked, letting go of Cartman’s face, and rising to his feet, in an instant. A loud voice boomed out from the hallway, followed by three loud thuds at the door, and Kyle quietly cursed, biting his lip. Eric leaned back against the bed, stomach full of butterflies, and eyes full of stars.

_“IS THIS ROOM TAKEN?”_

_“OCCUPIED!”_ Kyle shouted, anxiously rubbing his forehead, and snapping back to the real world, where he had literally, probably, sort-of, _actually,_  almost, _kissed_ Eric Cartman. _“GO AWAY!”_

Eric was completely out. He just sat in place, heart thumping out of his chest, clutching his legs together.

Kyle sighed, laughing nervously. “So, uh...you need a _bandaid,_ or anything, ‘cause uh…”

_“I’m good,”_ he breathed.

_“You sure?”_

“Never been better,” he nodded. “Not _ever.”_

 

* * *

 

Eric Cartman cuddled up into bed that night, with Kyle’s scarf, still wrapped around his neck. It smelled warm and fragrant and felt soft around his skin, almost as soft and gentle as the brush of Kyle’s fingers against his face. Almost as good as the real thing, but now that he’d come close to _almost_ the real thing, he knew there was no _comparison_ to the real thing.

And there was one thing for certain, that he was, that night.

So. Fucking. _Close._


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is being posted so late, the past few days have been slightly hellish for me. (more upload deets at the end of this chapter). but besides that, can i just say, THANKS for all the sweet comments u guys leave me!! seriously, i don't say it enough, but i value you all taking the time to read this and i hold your kind words, all very closely to my heart. but, ANYWAY:
> 
> recap: eric was rly upset bc kyle *unintentionally* hurt his feelings, but going out w/ a girl, but kyle didn't even WANT to go out and then THEY ALMOST KISSED WOW...yeah, so...yanno...
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

Kyle Broflovski was not a romantic.

He didn’t typically give into romantic tropes or ideas, he didn’t experience love at first sight, he just wasn’t the type. If he liked a girl, he liked a girl, he knew it, and it was that simple. It didn’t extend that deeply into his psyche. He knew what he wanted, knew what he didn’t want, nothing was _complicated,_ for him in that aspect. His relationships with girls had been simple, his friendships were simple, he didn’t argue with his family that often, it was all very simple. The only person, who he shared a truly complex relationship with, was Eric Cartman.

It was a relationship that was unexplainable, even to people who directly interacted with the two. Why, would two people, who claimed to _hate_ each other, and tried sabotaging each other, and argued that excessively, _still_ run to each other’s side, time after time? Why would two people who hated each other, _that_ passionately, grow-up together, and still voluntarily want each other in their lives? Kyle had no issue, entirely condemning people for their beliefs and errors. Cartman had the ability to ruin the life and mental stability of _anyone_ who truly _dared_ to cross him. So how had they managed to remain at each other’s sides, all those years? How was that _possible,_ when at that point, one of them should have bitten the dust? And how had their relationship, so suddenly twisted into something _new?_

It was something new, something soft, something special, that had the two both stifled and confused. Kyle, more so. Kyle didn’t _know_ what he was feeling. Ever. Not _ever._ He used to _think_ he did; he used to believe he had complete control over his feelings and actions, and yet, he found himself an emotional _wreck,_ after that night back at Token’s party. All alone, in a guest room. His hand, slipped around Eric Cartman’s face, their lips, mere _inches_ apart, and the feeling like his heart was about to break out of his chest. It had been so much _simpler,_ with girls…

They saw each other at school, the following week, though it felt awkward. _Weird._ Like something was going unspoken. Eric wore Kyle’s scarf, but it was tucked inside of his hoodie, which Kyle _did_ notice. It was like he still _wanted_ to wear it, but didn’t want Kyle to _know_ he was wearing it. Which seemed odd. He really, _really_ liked that scarf. Eric had even told Kyle, he couldn’t attend therapy that week, and Kyle was relieved to lie and tell him he wouldn’t be able to drive him either. The energy shared between them at the moment, was just too... _strong._ Kyle just spent the majority of his time at school, holed up in the library, studying for finals, and his time at home was spent practicing for his interview at Columbia. And _packing._ He kept repacking. Sheila was growing concerned about her son’s anxiety, herself.

He wanted to forget it had ever happened. That they had ever come close; because everything felt unfamiliar and weird and wrong, and he couldn’t be falling for _Cartman,_ could he? That was _insane._ Maybe _he_ was insane. And the only way to put an end to that insanity, and return to a state of normalcy, would be to push Eric away. Tell him to _‘shove off’._ Maybe just ignore him _entirely,_ or delete his phone number, or ask one of the cheerleaders out, as a distraction. But Cartman was so fucking _engraved_ into his life, at that point. All he could do is push, and hope for zero resistance back.

It took a _lot_ to throw Kyle Broflovski, off of his game.

But it only ever took Eric Cartman.

 

* * *

 

Eric Cartman _was_ a romantic.

It was strange, he didn’t seem very much like the type. _Especially,_ as a child. But even as a child, despite his warped thoughts and view of the world, everything had become more and more clear through therapy and he was a _romantic._ He loved _love,_ he loved seeing other couples, and something about seeing two people, in love, warmed up the heart, that was otherwise believed to be ice-cold. His heart _wasn’t_ stone-cold. It just needed to be thawed out, after years of being frozen over, to prevent anything from reaching the centre and exposing his vulnerable side. But truly only _one_ person could defrost that icy-cool exterior.

Why was it, that seeing Kyle with a girl, sent Eric into a downward spiral? As a kid, it turned him cruel, and vindictive. As a teenager, it just hurt. It hurt like a _bitch,_ and formed a large lump in his throat, just at the thought. It was bizarre, really, because Eric _did_ love seeing other couples interact. Was it because he didn’t want Kyle to be happy? Or was it because he already _knew_ who Kyle belonged with...and he believed it to be _himself?_

Eric cancelled therapy that day, because of all the wrong reasons. In fact, if anything, talking to someone about his feelings, would be incredibly beneficial for him, at the present moment. God, ever since that night at Token’s party, he was having emotions. A whole lot of them. Well, maybe lesser so _emotions,_ and something more closely resembling fantasies. Why did kissing Kyle have to remain a _fantasy?_ He had come _so_ close…

Eric hated the sounds of disdain, that his stepfather-to-be made when anything resembling a relationship between two boys was mentioned. Homophobia wasn’t _uncommon_ out in the mountains, but Bill being from Denver, did make his view on it, much less common. Denver was fairly progressive, but Liane’s boyfriend was a backwards douchebag. He didn’t hate gay people, because he thought of it as “sin”. He hated it because he thought it was “repulsive”. _“Disgusting”._ Maybe he just hated seeing people, be sincerely _happy_ with each other. He hated that Eric had a therapist, before Kyle had swooped in, and so he got rid of that, too. Eric worried that his medication would be next.

On some level, he hated that he _had_ attended therapy and gotten help for his many “issues”, because it had softened him up a great deal. If Bill had stepped into his life as a child and tried to control him, Liane would be digging her boyfriend a grave. But with therapy and medication, Eric was more docile. He had needed an outlet, and upon receiving one, he _did_ improve.

But it meant living in fear of his mother’s boyfriend.

Not because he was really _that_ scared of him. But he knew Bill was _dangerous._ But Liane _loved_ him, and Eric loved his mommy. The one time he back-talked to Bill, Eric found himself thrown back against the wall, which hurt, yes. But it was what slipped out of his future stepdad’s mouth, that truly sent him recoiling.

If he wanted Liane to stay safe, he had to play by the rules. Even if it meant taking a beer bottle to the forehead, or being bullied out of his own kitchen. He loved _two_ people in the world and his mother was one of them. And so, he did was he had to.

But now he was so close.

Fuck ‘em.

Eric’s hands were slipped loosely into his pockets, as he made his way up the street, to the one other house besides his own, that he knew like the back of his hand. Gerald Broflovski’s car was parked out front, with the trunk open wide, and a suitcase stuffed in the back. Eric supposed that it was an odd time of the year to take a business trip, but the Broflovskis _were_ Jewish. Hanukkah was already over, so it probably wasn’t that weird for _them._

Stepping through snow, onto the yard, Eric peeked into the trunk, really just as something to do, but also because his eyes were drawn to something shiny. Engraved tags:

_KYLE BROFLOVSKI_

_“Hey.”_

Eric turned his head, and Kyle was next to him. He was holding another smaller, suitcase, and his cheeks were rosy, the Hanukkah scarf, wrapped around his neck; bright green eyes, dazzling. Eric’s jaw almost dropped, just being reminded again, how fucking _attracted_ he was to Kyle.

Eric’s face broke out into an undeniable grin, and he felt his own cheeks heating up. “You’re wearing the _scarf…”_

 _“Yeah,”_ said Kyle, leaning back up against the car, and evading his eyes. Now, his cheeks were rosy from a lot more than just the _cold. “I love it.”_

“Uhhh, so, _Kyle…”_ Eric hesitated, hands stuffed back into his pockets. “I was wondering, if...we could, you know... _ta—”_

_“Gerald, I’m just not sure about this!”_

_“He’s going._ You _were the one who suggested it, so you can’t back out now!”_ The voices came from indoors, and drifted outside, as Gerald stormed down the front steps up to their house. He carried with him, a black carry-on bag, and slammed it angrily into the trunk, causing Kyle to jump back from the car.

“Dad, I don’t really think I need my extra carry-on, I’m only going for a week or so.”

“No, _Kyle,_ because your mother _said_ so, you need an entire extra suitcase of clothing,” Gerald snapped, slamming the trunk shut.

Kyle looked between his father and Eric uncomfortably, as Sheila stepped into the doorframe. “Gerald, could we _please_ discuss this indoors, I just don’t think it’s entirely _safe_ at the moment, to have the family…” she stopped herself when she noticed Kyle’s uninvited guest. “Oh, hello, _Eric,”_ she grinned, then shooting Gerald a strained look. “We need to talk. _Inside.”_

Gerald stormed up the steps, and into the house with Sheila, the door violently shutting behind the two. Eric felt as though he’d seen something he definitely wasn’t supposed to.

“Uh, sorry about that,” murmured an embarrassed Kyle, taking off his ushanka for a moment, to run a hand through his hair. He looked stressed. “They’ve been fighting a lot lately. It’s complicated.”

“Uhhh that’s okay,” Eric swallowed, watching Kyle’s every movement, in awe. He just _did_ that to him. “I understand…why are you packing?”

“I’m going to New York,” Kyle said, resting back up against the car again. “You _know_ that. I have late Hanukkah stuff, and then my interview with Columbia.”

Eric blinked. “But...tomorrow is _Christmas Eve…”_

 _“So?”_ Kyle shrugged. “I don’t even celebrate Christmas.”

“But...you, me, Stan and Kenny, usually go _sledding_ on Christmas Eve…” He wasn’t about to say it aloud, but Eric had been hoping that night, it’d _finally_ happen. South Park was far enough from the city, that it stayed unaffected by light pollution, and you could see a sky full of stars at night. Usually, the four would go sledding, and Kyle, the big know-it-all, would point out constellations, while he and Kenny tried catching snowflakes on their tongues. Which was _really_ fucking lame. But Kenny never judged.

No, Eric was never going to admit it out loud, but he had fantasized about that night and the hope of _finally_ being kissed by Kyle, under the stars. It greatly contrasted; catching fresh snowflakes on his tongue, versus having _Kyle_ on his tongue, but it was some contrast he _welcomed,_ at least in his dreams. It had almost become a reality, by then.

“Not this year,” Kyle hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um... _sorry.”_

Eric let out a shaking breath. “But...I was _hoping_ we could…”

“Hoping we could, _what?”_ Kyle snapped, tugging at his scarf. His cheeks were flushed. “It’s just this _once, Cartman._ I have to go, I don’t really have a choice.”

“Yeah, but, next year, you’re gonna be _gone,”_ Eric’s voice wavered. “So, it’s _not_ just this year,” he swallowed, before whispering his next words. “I just…wanna spend _time_ with you.”

“Well, I’m leaving the moment my dad comes back outside,” Kyle sucked in a long breath. “You’re gonna have to learn to live without me at _some_ point, Cartman.”

Kyle was filled with regret, the moment the words left his mouth, but Eric was too focused on the ground to gauge the reaction to his own words. _“What?”_

“Cartman, I...I didn’t _mean_ it like that, I was just _saying—”_

“I don’t _need_ you, Kyle, Jesus Christ,” Eric spat, arms crossed over each other. “I actually don’t fucking care if you’re here or not.”

Kyle narrowed his eyes. “But, you _just_ said—”

“I know what I said, _Kyle,_ I changed my mind,” he huffed, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat.

Kyle snorted. “Well, _that_ was fast.”

“Have fun in New York, _Kyle.”_

“Yeah!” said Kyle, as Eric stormed off in the opposite direction. “I _will!”_

What was worse? An actual break-up, or the _crushed_ possibility of something new and magical? Eric didn’t want to think about it.

 

* * *

 

New York City sucked.

Bright lights? The ability to dine-out at all hours? Beautiful architecture? Fascinating art and history museums? The best shopping in the world? Nah. It all _sucked._ But anything and _everything_ sucked when your mind was permanently stuck on somebody else.

Kyle couldn’t focus. He sat in the guest bedroom, of his uncle’s apartment, overlooking the city, and spent most of his time, just waiting for his phone to chime. And every time it did, and he checked it, just to receive another text from Stan or Kenny, he was sad to say, his heart sank.

What the _fuck,_ kind of world was he living in, where Eric Cartman’s absence, had him holed up in his bedroom, staring _miserably,_ up at the ceiling?

He couldn’t stop thinking about their almost-kiss. The party. The scarf. The atmosphere in the room that night; the dreamy look in Eric’s eyes, but the sobering bruise on his forehead. He’d seen it again, earlier that week. It was mostly healed, which was a huge relief for Kyle. He was _angry_ thinking about that bruise, which was an odd feeling. He himself had kicked Cartman’s ass a few times, back in the day, but the older they got, the more oddly protective he started feeling towards Eric.

He cared. He cared a lot. His heart was full to the brim, with love and care for Eric Cartman. _Love,_ god, he _had_ to stop using that word. Even if just internally. It was going to send him into a downward spiral if he kept the idea of ‘love’ and Eric Cartman, adjacent to each other.

There was a soft knock at the door. _“Kyle?”_

He was pulled out of his own negative, thought pattern, at the sound of a cousin calling out his name. “Yeah?”

_“Mom made latkes, and we’re about to start opening presents.”_

Kyle sighed. “It’s not even _Hanukkah_ anymore…” No, it was Christmas Eve, actually. One day into his trip and Kyle was already stuck on Eric Cartman, again. He had contemplated walking over to the big Christmas tree, at Times Square. He eagerly welcomed any distraction, but the fact of the matter was that the only reason he _knew_ the giant Christmas tree was a thing, was because of the night back in 10th grade, when the boys were snowed in due to a large storm. It had been right around the holidays, and they were trapped at Stan’s, so to kill time, the other three insisted on forcing Kyle to watch copious amounts of bad Christmas movies.

 _“Jesus Christ,”_ he’d muttered. The third movie, showed a skating couple, in front of Times Square. _“Christmas is so overly commercialized, I mean, how much time and money do you think went into preparing a giant fucking Christmas tree, that’ll be functional for one month?”_

 _“Shut-up, Kyle,”_ said Cartman, still pigging out on popcorn. _“It’s cool.”_

 _“It’s stupid, and proof that the holiday has lost all meaning.” Hanukkah_ was never commercialized, to that extent, and Kyle was proud to say so. It didn’t surprise him that Cartman thought it was “cool”. He was rather extravagant, for a teenage boy. But when Sharon had dropped them all off the next day, and Kyle had to go to Cartman’s house to help him search for a video game he’d lent him, and the fatass had unsurprisingly misplaced, he noticed the house _lacked_ something.

 _“Where’s your Christmas tree?”_ Kyle asked.

Cartman shrugged. _“Why do_ you _care? I thought Christmas was too “commercialized”?”_

Kyle scoffed. _“I mean, it is, but usually you have a tree and presents underneath it by now.”_

Cartman looked away, opting to dig under his bed for something, instead. _“Maybe I’m going for a minimalistic approach now, Kyle. I thought you’d be_ proud.”

Kyle was surprised he’d even used the word “minimalistic” correctly, but he got the hint from Cartman’s desperate attempts to evade the subject:

Liane was _struggling._

And now, two years later, she’d passed her own, personal problems down to Eric.

_“Yeah, I’m trying to talk to him, but he’s just been lying in bed all day!”_

Kyle snapped back to the present and reality, hearing his cousin shouting something from outside his guest bedroom. He had a feeling, that wasn’t in _response_ to him, but rather it was _about_ him.

“No, I _haven’t!”_ Kyle hissed. “I’m just _jet-lagged,_ Jesus _Christ.”_

Jet-lag could be more than just physical. Sometimes it had impacts on matters of the heart, as well.

 

* * *

 

Fuck the holidays.

Eric Cartman never thought he’d see the day when he _dreaded_ Christmas. Of course, the last few years had been rough on Liane, so there weren’t many gifts to unwrap, but usually, they’d drive up to Nebraska after Christmas and his relatives would have lots of presents for him. This year, was not the case.

Eric had gotten home after his “fight” with Kyle, to storm into his room and pack a suitcase of his own. Fuck Kyle, for leading him on like that. Fuck Kyle, for thinking he _cared_ that much about him. Fuck Kyle, for assuming he needed him, and fuck Kyle for being so _right._ Well, Kyle could go right ahead and fuck himself, because Eric was going places for the holidays too. _Nebraska._ And everyone knew _Nebraska_ was 10x cooler than stupid _New York City._

Should Eric bring Kyle’s scarf with him? It was still wrapped around his neck, tucked into his hoodie. He didn’t want to come onto him, too strong. He was _really_ hoping that Kyle had no idea how desperately he was _wanted_ by him; for fuck’s sake, he might as well put up posters all around _town,_ at that point:

“WANTED: One, gorgeous Jewish boy. Redhead. Lightly freckled. Eyes the colour of sea glass. Smells like sandalwood. Self-righteous and opinionated asshole, but _totally_ dreamy. If found, please contact Eric Cartman”.

_Ugh._

It was annoying that so many of his treasured personal items reminded him of Kyle. Like, his journal. His entire fucking _journal_ revolved around Kyle, and on top of _that,_ it had been a _gift,_ from him. How could he pack that, when he was only trying to _forget_ Kyle?

 _“Sweetie?_ What are you _doing?”_

Eric spun on his heel, to see Liane in the doorway. She was dressed-up for dinner. At least that meant she and her stupid _boyfriend_ would be gone, for a while. “Uh...packing for Nebraska.”

Liane giggled. “Oh, no, Eric, we’re not going to Nebraska, this year.”

He frowned. “Why _not?”_

“Well, Bill doesn’t want to go to Nebraska, snookums,” she said, adjusting an earring. “I didn’t think you even _liked_ Nebraska that much anymore, not now that grandma’s passed.”

Maybe his mother was right. Maybe he was just looking for a distraction. “But, we always go to Nebraska, and Uncle Howard is getting out of prison, and—”

“Oh, _no,_ sweetie,” Liane winced. “Well...things aren’t really working _out_ for us, this year. But we’ll have a nice Christmas here, instead. I _promise.”_

Some promises are made to be broken.

Eric spent Christmas Eve, sitting in bed, with his blanket pulled up to his chin, eyes glazed over with tears. Liane had gone into Denver, for what she said was “Christmas shopping”, but around 9:30 PM, she’d told Eric she’d be staying overnight at Bill’s. Because the traffic was “bad”. She probably wasn’t even lying. It was icy out.

And maybe it didn’t matter that much to Eric, but what _did_ matter, was that Kyle hadn’t even _texted_ him. He was probably hooking up with that girl from the summer. Kyle had a _million_ options, if he wanted them. Eric felt stupid even believing for a minute, that Kyle could have been into him. Kyle didn’t even _like_ boys. He liked smart and pretty girls. Eric was pretty sure he didn’t fall into any of those three categories.

The old saying about being unable to sleep, if you were in someone else’s dream, might have been true, but in turn, it seemed to work with the conscious, as well. Neither Kyle nor Eric could fall asleep that night, as neither could keep the other off of his mind. So while Eric wiped away stray tears, and tried his hardest not to think about Kyle, Kyle was lying in bed, across the country, clutching at his pillow and desperately trying to decipher how, when, and _why_ he had started to feel this way. And _hard._

Sometimes the best thing to do was face things head-on.

 

* * *

 

Kyle had breezed through his interview. The interviewer, already knew who he was because of his uncle’s recommendation, and he’d even had the interview set-up for him. Kyle wasn’t too pleased about having to remove his treasured ushanka and take the train to Columbia in a suit and tie, but the moment he had finished-up, he felt almost _entirely_ relieved.

_Almost._

The interview hadn’t been _difficult,_ because he had practiced, and even _without_ practice, Kyle was incredibly well-versed. He knew what to say to please other people, and he had every hypothetical question and corresponding answer, memorized. Really, all he had to do, was flash a grin and shake the guy’s hand, and be on his way. In fact, it had gone _so_ well, that he was on a high. In the first good mood, since arriving in the city; he made the walk across campus, to the designated subway station, and though it was cold, he felt warm all over, and tingly and excited.

Then he checked his phone.

 _Still_ nothing from Eric Cartman. He’d changed his contact name, from “FATASS” to “Eric Cartman”, a few days before Token’s party. Not even just, “Cartman”, no, his full, _entire_ name, “Eric” and all. But no messages from “Eric Cartman” showed-up on display. Kyle slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket and kept walking.

Had he _really_ hurt him that badly? He knew Cartman had a very sensitive side to him and that he had trouble expressing it. That was a big reason as to _why_ he was in therapy. Therapy that _Kyle_ was taking care of, for him, which made it really stupid for Kyle to tell Eric he’d need to “learn to live without him at _some_ point”, when Kyle was consistently _encouraging_ Cartman, to fall back on him. He’d been doing that since they were _children,_ even. Suddenly, Kyle felt really _stupid._

He couldn’t eat at dinner, because of the ringing sound in his ears. Over the course of the next few days, he could barely touch his food. His stomach was knotted and his heart throbbed and his tongue got twisted in his mouth, whenever he tried speaking. He was _wanted_ by someone, he’d never think he’d want back, but it was happening.

His trip was supposed to end on January 2nd, but into the early hours of December 31st, he still couldn’t stop thinking about Eric. Those big, blue eyes, the way he pathetically attempted to come off as tough, but secretly loved writing in a cute, purple journal, the consistently _desperate_ look on his face and way he carried himself; Kyle had realized something right away: as a child, he _knew_ when Cartman was up to no good. And he knew that the things he did, were often beyond fucked-up and wrong. But he’d maintained faith in him because deep down he _did_ believe he could change. And now that he _had_ changed, he’d realized two things:

 

  1. Cartman kept up a rude and tactless front, to shield himself from the rest of the world, out of fear of having his own heart broken.
  2. Now that he _had_ improved, Eric Cartman was the type of person, Kyle could seriously fall for.
  3. Maybe he had.



 

Kyle threw the covers onto the floor, crawling out of bed. He made his way over to his laptop, on the desk in his guest bedroom, and typed in his password, then reaching for his wallet on the nightstand.

How soon could he get back to Colorado?

 

* * *

 

Parties weren’t Eric’s thing if there was no chance of seeing Kyle there, but Kenny and Stan had just automatically arrived at his house for pick-up, after a snack-run for the party. So he slipped into a hoodie, brushed his hair, and headed downstairs. He had Kyle’s scarf wrapped around his neck, just because it was something he always wore now, and it didn’t mean anything at all. He wasn’t wearing it for _Kyle,_ that’s for damn certain. New Year’s Eve parties sucked anyway. They meant listening to people blab on about their stupid resolutions and drunk people making-out in corners and loud music and cheering when the clock struck at midnight. Maybe New Year’s Eve was fun when you _had_ someone to kiss at midnight, but he didn’t, so it fucking _sucked._

“What’s your resolution this year?” asked Kenny, as Eric slipped into the back seat of Stan’s (mother’s) car.

“New Year's resolutions are for gaywads.”

“Yeah, exactly, so what’s your resolution, then?”

Eric grumbled, staring out his window, as his friend laughed on.

“Oh, lighten up,” Kenny grinned, turning in his seat. He lowered his voice a tad, before speaking again. _“Kyle’s_ getting back home soon.”

Eric shrugged, still peering out the window, staring endlessly at nothing. “Who _cares?”_

 _“You,”_ Kenny said in a hushed tone, as to keep Stan from listening. _“You_ care.”

 _“Nah,”_ Eric leaned back in his seat, pulling at the zipper on his jacket. “I guess I’m over it.”

 

* * *

 

Taking the time spent in customs at the airport, the four and a half hour flight back to Denver, the long drive _back_ to South Park, and the 45 minutes it spent, convincing his uncle, just _why_ Kyle needed to go back to Colorado, that _very_ day, he would be lucky to make it to Stan’s for 11 PM. Sheila had driven into Denver, to pick up her eldest son and though she didn’t mind helping him, she had _many_ questions, as to why it was pertinent that be back in South Park that very night.

“Do you have some kind of secret _girlfriend,_ you aren’t telling us about, Kyle?” she asked on the way back. “Your uncle didn’t say very much.” Kyle’s foot bounced up and down against the bottom of the car’s interior. He was losing patience.

“Nope, no girlfriend,” he assured her, biting his lip. _Something like that._

“Your father and I don’t care if she’s not Jewish, Kyle,” Sheila reminded him. “We just want you to be happy.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he snapped, then recoiling as his mother shot him a dirty look. “Sorry, I’m just...I _missed_ you guys...you know...I wanted to be back, as soon as possible.”

Sheila raised a brow, but shrugged it off. “Alright, bubbe. Whenever you feel like telling me the truth, I’m here.”

Nah, he’d never tell her the truth. He was even hesitant to believe the truth _himself,_ let alone explain it to anyone else. Especially his _mother._

The minute they pulled up to Kyle’s house, he clicked his door open and got out of the car. He probably looked like shit. He was tired and jet-lagged and hadn’t eaten in hours. He had a black sweater pulled over his head, under his jacket, and on days like this, he was _so_ grateful for his ushanka, because he was willing to bet, his hair was an entire _mess._ But it didn’t matter. Stan’s house was a twenty-second walk from there, and he was on a mission.

“Kyle, just where do you think you’re _going?”_

“I need—”

“You _need_ to bring your luggage inside.”

 _“Mom,”_ he said, placing two hands on her shoulders. “I really, _really_ need to go let the others know I’m back home. _Please?”_

Sheila sighed. “Kyle, it’s almost _midnight_ on New Year’s _Eve,_ for Pete’s sake.”

_“Please?”_

“I know you just wanna go to Stan’s party.”

“I’ll be _so_ quick, I _promise,_ you won’t even no—”

“Just _go,_ Kyle!” she shook her head, turning back towards the front door entrance of their house. “I don’t even have the _energy_ to argue.”

He took that as a ‘yes’.

Kyle dashed over to Stan’s house, loud music emanating from the party. He twisted the front door open, stepping inside, and making his way through the crowd, in a desperate search for only _one_ person. He didn’t see any of the girls, he didn’t care about _any_ of the guys, he didn’t come for liquor, or drugs, or any of that, he came for _one_ person and he intended on finding them.

 _“Kyle!”_ Stan shouted, making his way through a few girls, Kenny in tow. “Dude! I thought you weren’t back until the 2nd!”

“I came back early,” he said, looking between the two. “Where’s Cartman?”

“I dunno,” Stan shrugged, throwing back his red solo cup. _“Why?”_

“I need him,” Kyle stammered, automatically correcting himself. “I need to _find_ him.”

“He’s probably outside,” Kenny shrugged. “Haven’t really seen him since dropping him off.”

 _“Fuck,”_ Kyle muttered, pushing past the two, making his way through the crowd.

“Uh, Kyle,” Kenny called. “I think he might have actually left a while ago.”

Kyle turned around, with a glare. “Then why did you tell me _outside?”_

“I dunno! I’m just guessing, because he—”

Kyle didn’t stay to listen. He made his way to the back of the house and slipped into the backyard, adrenaline too high, to take the freezing weather into account. He peered around outside, lump in his throat so significant, he couldn’t even call out his name.

But then he spotted him. Sitting on the bottom step, of the Marshs’ porch. Face down, into his lap, arms wrapped around his legs. Kyle ran down the steps, shaking Eric’s shoulders when he finally reached him at the bottom. The other boy looked up, eyes locking with Kyle’s in shock. Kyle smiled in relief, at the sight of him, but before he could even speak, Eric pulled away, stood up, and tried turning on his heel.

 _“Cartman!”_ Kyle shouted, running back up the steps, to follow him. _“Wait!"_

Eric pushed aside the sliding glass doors, making his way through crowds of people, and Kyle chased after him. He was surprisingly fast, for someone who weighed that much, and was the shortest of the group, but Kyle was determined to keep up. He pushed people aside, ignoring the snorts of derision and annoyance.

Someone grabbed him by the wrist. He turned his head, coming face-to-face with Stan. “Dude, _let go!”_

“You just _got_ here!”

“I have to _do_ something, Jesus _Christ!”_ Kyle pulled away, running past hoards of people, towards the front door. No one could stop him from seeing Cartman. He had flown back with a purpose, and it would be fulfilled. The front door slammed shut, and Kyle picked up his pace, yanking the damn thing open, the moment he was close enough to reach for the knob.

Once he got outside, Kyle could see Eric trudging along down the street. He ran along the icy sidewalk, safety being of his very last concern, and dashed toward Eric, the moment his feet hit real pavement. They were a few houses down from Stan’s, when Kyle reached for Eric’s shoulder, pulling him around to make eye contact, and the moment they did, he was faced head-on with a cold _glare._

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Kyle asked, slightly panting.

 _“You_ are!”

 _“I_ am? _Really?”_ Kyle seethed. _“I’m_ the problem, somehow? _I’m_ the one who’s always saving you from yourself, _I’m_ the one taking the fall for _your_ problems, _I’m_ the one _lying_ to my father every Monday night, so I can take _you_ to therapy! _I’m_ the one who takes care of every fucking _aspect_ of your life, and wipes away _your_ tears, only to get thrown under the bus, and have you _run_ from me and blame all your _bullshit_ on me, so don’t tell me, _I’m_ the problem.”

“You _are_ the problem!” Eric shouted, pushing away from Kyle’s grasp. “I never asked for you to _save_ me, _Kyle!_ That’s all on _you!_ And now, you’ve got me so fucking _attached_ to you, and then you act like it’s _my_ fault, when you just _know_ you’re gonna be leaving forever the moment we graduate. Don’t tell _me,_ not to find some way to “live without you”, when _you’re_ the one, intruding on _my_ life!” he said, face red, and breath winded. “So, _fuck off.”_

“Wow, I’m _so_ surprised, to hear _that_ from you,” Kyle laughed, anxiously. “You know what? I _am_ sorry for what I said. No, I _was_ sorry for what I said, but now, I’m not so _sure._ Because I spend _all_ of _my_ time, _caring_ about you, and _worrying_ about you, and wondering if you’re fucking _okay,_ because I _know_ you’re not, and _why_ was I so _stupid_ to believe it was _anything_ but one-sided, when you clearly don’t give a _shit_ about me? For fuck’s sake, it took me leaving for a _week,_ for you to want nothing to _do_ with me again, and start playing the victim card.”

“You don’t think I _care_ about you?” Eric breathed. “You’re the only person I really _do_ care about. Why would I be so fucking upset about you _leaving,_ if I didn’t _care_ about you?”

Kyle could feel his body trembling, all over. He hated getting this emotionally worked-up. Fucking _hated_ it. “I came home two days _early,_ just so I could see you. And _you_ think, _you’re_ the invested one?!”

Eric blinked, eyes wide with hope. He clutched his hands back together, rubbing them around; it was a nervous habit. “You came back, for _me?”_

“That’s what I’ve been trying to _tell_ you,” Kyle said, slowly re-approaching him again. “I thought about you, my _entire_ trip. I felt like _shit._ It feels weird to admit, but...I...I _really_ fucking missed you.”

Eric peered up, into those same, shockingly emerald eyes, heart softening, but simultaneously beating out of his chest, as Kyle laced their fingers together. _“Kyle…”_

He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Those bright blue eyes were just _impossible_ to look away from. “Tell me, I’m not _stupid.._ for maintaining any faith in you. Tell me I’m not _stupid,_ for caring.”

“Kyle, it’s true, I just…” he trembled. “I don’t wanna be apart from you.”

Kyle hesitated, staring back down into his eyes. “You don’t _have_ to be.”

The entire world stopped, and went silent.

Both hearts, skipped a beat.

And thus started, the beginning of the end, when Kyle’s hands flew to the sides of Eric’s face, and Eric’s hands held onto his arms for stability, and the entire _world_ ceased to exist, beyond them. First kisses rarely ever elicited fireworks from Kyle, but _this_ one did, and the New Year's Eve celebrations weren’t to blame for it. The moment he and Eric’s lips locked, it was as if blue and green melted into one, both hearts falling into sync, and passion was set ablaze. It wasn’t too needy, or laboured, it was just soft and sweet, and heated, as they carried on, until Eric threw his arms around Kyle’s neck, and the two toppled over into the freshly fallen snow. Kyle landed on Eric’s, soft body, and they had to pull away for a moment, just from the mere _shock_ of it all, the explosive energy between them, that made reality seem distant and hazy.

Reality had no _place,_ in love.

Kyle swallowed, looking away, eyes then falling back to Eric’s. _“Wow.”_

Eric could barely _breathe,_ his big blue eyes, reflecting the stars. “Am I _dreaming?”_

Kyle grinned, softly laughing to himself with relief, noticing the few tears that streamed down Eric’s cheeks. “Wait, are you _crying?”_

He nodded, but the smile on his face had never been more earnest. _“Yeah.”_

“Did I do something _wrong?”_ Kyle asked, wiping a few of his own tears away with the back of his jacket. He hadn’t noticed he’d teared up himself, either.

 _“No,”_ Eric laughed happily. “I just can’t believe you’re _real.”_

Kyle’s heart melted. “Oh my _god,_ you’re so _lame.”_ He wiped away a few of Eric’s tears, before leaning in forward again. Eric wrapped his arms around Kyle, who moved even closer and clutched those soft, round cheeks, in the palms of his hands, their lips locked and faces hot; hearts heavy with love and lust, and everything in between. Kyle didn’t even fucking _care_ if they got caught, making out on the lawn of some neighbour, a few houses down from Stan’s. It was so much easier to just ignore reality, and indulge in something, almost _nine years_ of tension had all built up towards. A kiss like that was something you _never_ forgot.

The two only pulled away, when either needed air, and Kyle ran the back of his fingers, lightly against Eric’s cheek. _“Happy New Year.”_

Eric laughed with relief, cheeks bright red, against Kyle’s touch. “So, what happens _now?”_

“Who _cares?”_ Kyle sighed. Their lips flew to each other’s once more, just like magnets, because _that’s_ what they were. Caught up in a heated attraction, no matter how _dangerous_ it would be, to either side, there was no use in pretending anymore, or avoiding feelings or pushing one another away. And so, the beginning of the end, it was.

Fireworks lit up the sky, as something deeply resembling _love_ was set ablaze in Kyle’s heart. Maybe love was a lot more than just _adjacent,_ to his feelings for Eric Cartman, and he actually _did_ care, whether he wanted to, or not. It was too late to claim anything, otherwise.

God, they were so fucked.

Neither fucking cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok soooooo my wisdom teeth came in rly early (lucky me!!!) and i'm having them taken out on the 25th which DIRECTLY CONFLICTS W/ MY UPLOAD SCHEDULE, bc i'll literally be unconscious like. all day. so chapter 13 will be out between the 26th and 28th of july, and THEN we're back to regular programming.
> 
>  
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> _at laaaaaaaaaast..._
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> (;


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey what up it's ya girl lai just had my WISDOM teeth removed so now i'm a permanent idiot (bruh they came in so early, i ain't even old enough to drink in the US...y e e t). anyway. sorry it's late
> 
> ABOUT MY SCHEDULE: uhhh...probably i'd expect weekly updates from now on?? i'd rly like to do 5 days, but idk if it's possible any longer ): hopefully things improve, sorry
> 
> recap: kyle left nyc early to see eric, and then AJSIESRESR THEY KISSED!!!!!!!
> 
> also, another angel ,,, has blessed us,, w/ some lovely fanart. s/o to @unicornioazul-rcq on tumblr.com, i heart u lots. u can check it out [hyah](http://unicornioazul-rcq.tumblr.com/post/176217530796/dude-im-dying-omfg-ok-so-i-speak-spanish-but)
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

Eric Cartman hadn’t believed in the existence of magic since he was a child, but if Kyle Broflovski kept kissing him... _that way,_ his current outlook might be challenged.

In other words, _wow._

It was one thing to have a crush, and all the bittersweetness that came with a crush, and the excitement and butterflies that came along with it. It was one thing to be _kissed,_ the way that he had been kissed that night...and then, it was an entirely new _feeling_ to lock lips with someone you’d essentially been _devoted_ to, since _childhood._ Eric had _hated_ growing up with a big fat crush on Kyle for so long; he watched as he dated girl after girl, and talked about female crushes at lunch, and so Eric had to swallow his pride and throw back insults and lie and cover the bump in his pants and lump in his throat, any time Kyle did anything _ever._ Like, that time back in fourth grade where Kyle had pushed him up against a tree, by the throat, and he’s whined and cried to hide those... _confusing_ feelings. Or back in freshman year, when their school did some stupid pep-rally assembly celebration and everyone had to hold hands in “unity” and he had _just_ happened to be standing next to Kyle and they had locked hands for a good 10 minutes and _fuck,_ could Kyle tell his palms were sweaty, because he was _just_ that flustered by him, or what?

_“Your hands are so fucking_ sticky,” Kyle had groaned, when they finally pulled away. _“Nichole’s gonna_ love _that.”_ Oh, right. That had been back in the _Nichole_ -days.

_“Hey,_ Stan _is the dumbass whose_ girlfriend _suggested a “unity” ceremony,”_ Eric had snapped back. Kyle should have been _lucky_ to hold his hand anyway; if given the chance, he’d hold his hand better than Nichole _ever_ would.

_“You’re just jealous, that you don’t_ have _a girlfriend, Cartman,”_ Kyle had scoffed, and with the roll of his eyes, he was off to find Nichole. She was cute and sweet and a cheerleader and Eric _totally_ should have been jealous that _he_ didn’t have a ‘Nichole’, for himself.

Sadly for Eric, he was more interested in a _‘Kyle’._

Not _a_ ‘Kyle’. _The_ Kyle. And for that reason, he’d piss him off, and follow him and spite him and do anything he could, to receive the smallest bit of attention from Kyle Broflovski. What other option did he _have?_ A normal, _rational_ person, would suggest seeking a more _positive_ form of attention from him, but Eric Cartman didn’t know _how_ to receive positive attention from Kyle, so he got it in any other way he could. He’d take Kyle in any way he wanted him.

But now he had something _new._

And this time around, holding hands with Kyle had gone _very_ differently.

It had been just a few hours before, but Eric couldn’t sleep. After they kissed, and kissed, Kyle had laced his fingers through Eric’s and helped him back up to his feet. There was a level of awkwardness, that came afterwards; the two were the most vulnerable with each other, over anyone in their circle of friends, or even else anyone at _all_...past relationships and family members included...but the level of intimacy shared that evening, was something entirely new and different and they both knew right away it was going to lead to the _most_ uncomfortable question, at the beginning of any new romance:

_“What are we?”_

Kyle had actually been anticipating that question, unbeknownst to Eric. And Eric was bracing for someone to shake him by the shoulders; to be awoken from whatever bizarre fantasy he was currently living out. Or, at the very least, for some camera guy to pop out from behind a snow-covered bush, and announce that he’d been pranked. Or maybe, for Kyle to utter something along the lines of “oh, _god,_ what have I _done?”_ and take off in the other direction. It had to have been a _mistake._

But it wasn’t.

And he _didn’t._

“You, _alright?”_ Kyle asked, cheeks bright red; absolutely flushed with colour, and yet, he still looked cool as _hell._ Eric wondered how he did that.

Eric didn’t say anything. He just flopped against Kyle’s will, resting his head on his chest, and wrapping his arms around his waist, heart filled to the brim. Kyle wasn’t perfect, by a stretch; he smelled like the airport and his clothes were slightly disheveled, but Eric _loved_ that about him.

Kyle grinned softly, rubbing Eric’s back, in a few long, soft strokes. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m… _happy.”_

_“Fuck,”_ Kyle laughed quietly. “This is so weird.”

Eric’s head bobbed up, eyes immediately clouded with worry. _“What?”_

_“Shhhhh,”_ Kyle assured him, removing a hand from his back, to softly lift up Eric’s chin. “Not _bad,_ weird, just...I mean, _good,_ weird. It’s _good,_ weird. Fuck... _uh...”_

“Oh, well,” Eric said, blushing under Kyle’s gaze. “I mean… _cool…”_

Kyle leaned downwards, locking lips with Eric again, who sighed at his touch, melting back into their kiss. The two remained grateful, for the loud New Year’s Eve celebrations going on back over at Stan’s, as it meant more privacy and less of a chance of any classmates walking in on a sudden and confusing makeout session, or the prospect of either finally coming clean about... _feelings._ Which both had a _lot_ of. And neither wanted _anyone_ interrupting them.

...and then, Kyle’s phone rang.

Well, _shit._ At least it wasn’t Stan or Kenny, or anyone viewing them in _person._ Kyle had pulled his lips away, the _instant_ his ringtone sounded, and both immediately knew it was Sheila. He sighed, shaking his head, and giving Eric an apologetic look. Kyle bit his lip, then turning away, and reaching for his phone, with a nod and a sigh, as he read the name across the top of the screen. “Yeah…that’s my mom.”

Eric blinked in the direction of the Broflovskis’ house. He hated having a flighty, and somewhat _neglectful_ mother, but Kyle’s overbearing mother, would _really_ get on his nerves, too. _“Kyle—”_

“Look, I—I gotta go. She barely even agreed to let me go to this party, so it’s probably a good idea, if I leave now, unless you want her to come out looking for me, and find us like... _this,”_ he said, running his hands down the front of Eric’s coat. Kyle’s eyes flew downwards, and he tentatively pulled his hands back away, wishing the two could stay longer. “But, uhhh... _Happy New Year.”_

_“Kyle—”_

He hesitated for a split second, wondering how much time he had before Sheila busted through the front door and came looking for him, but decided, _fuck it._ Kyle leaned back down, quickly kissing Eric on the cheek, and then turning around, to head back home. _“Night.”_

And that’s where he left Eric Cartman; standing starstruck, a few houses down from Stan Marsh’s party, with his heart beating out of his chest and butterflies in his stomach. Amazing how on _one_ hand, his feelings for Kyle overpowered _all_ others, dominated all of his senses, left him speechless and took control over every bit of the small, _rationality_ he possessed, yet simultaneously, his crush on Kyle’s, was that of a _schoolgirl's:_ made his cheeks turn pink, and filled his tummy with butterflies. Kyle had magical _powers,_ over him.

He had no idea what to do, but to stand there for a good moment and just take in all that had happened. He had the sweet, lingering taste, of Kyle Broflovski on his lips. _Fuck,_ that felt _good._ It felt _so_ fucking good.

It felt so good, in fact, that he didn’t even _think_ about his mother and stepfather-to-be, and all those issues. He just floated back home and slipped into that cold and empty house, where he’d received a few shitty gifts and a pat on the back, for Christmas, and slipped into bed, where he couldn’t sleep a wink, the _entire_ night.

Kyle Broflovski had _kissed_ him.

It was all happening.

 

* * *

 

Kyle, on the other hand, was a little more freaked out.

He had kissed Eric Cartman.

What was _happening,_ to him?

First off, Kyle had no freaking clue, how he’d gone from literally _hating_ Cartman, to kissing him. And it wasn’t a dare, or a drunk kiss, or something he could excuse. He had flown home early, from _New York,_ to rush to Stan’s party, just so he could find Eric. Had he intended to kiss him all _along?_ Was he just behaving on pure instinct, when a voice in his head, 24 hours before, had absolutely _insisted_ he go back to Colorado to see him? Your gut was supposed to act as a personal compass. His gut had led him to _Eric Cartman._

Maybe it was magic or just some form of extreme masochism, that kept leading them to each other. If Kyle truly thought about it, which he did, the moment he’d arrived home and sat up, staring at the ceiling in his bedroom, he realized he had never actually _hated_ Cartman. Well, maybe that was untrue; there were _many_ times in their childhood, where he had most _definitely_ hated Cartman’s guts, but _somewhere_ along the line...he’d started to see the vulnerable and tragic side of him. It was a side, that nobody else could see. He often felt as though he were looking _through_ Eric Cartman. And often, more often than he wanted to admit, he didn’t totally hate what he was seeing.

It was totally fucked up. Totally _fucked,_ that both he _and_ Eric Cartman could see through each other; they’d seen the very ugliest the other had to offer and _still kept coming back._ That was something powerful about their bond. No matter how ugly the fighting got, at the end of the day, they almost _faulted_ to siding with each other. And maybe that was wrong; that was _bad_ and maybe a whole lot of it was unhealthy, but it was _special._ Kyle wasn’t known by most people, for his more greedy, and self-centered tendencies. He had done some pretty fucked up stuff, in its own regard. And Eric Cartman had been there to see it all.

And he liked what he saw.

But they were almost adults now. And their relationship had almost turned _healthy._ He took Eric to therapy. And Eric was _so_ much less intolerant; maybe all along, he’d just needed some good fucking influence in his life. Kyle knew he couldn’t take _all_ of the credit, when Eric had been through years of therapy and had other positive influences in his life, like _Kenny,_ his new therapist, too…but he had started realizing, slowly, that all the _positive_ parts of Cartman, that still existed, when he was “fixed”, were things he could _so_ easily fall for. Like, his creativity, passion, and that _emotional_ side. Oh, he _loved_ seeing Eric’s _emotional_ side.

Then there was the _obvious:_ Eric Cartman was a _boy._ A boy who loved cross-dressing and tea parties, and Britney Spears, but a boy nonetheless. Kyle wasn’t used to feeling this way about a _boy._ He thought back to that one night in the suburbs, where he’d told Eric something about sexuality being a spectrum; how true love surpassed and broke all of the “rules”, and expectations, people had set for themselves. Had he known it applied to himself too, all along? Sure, Kyle found other guys _attractive_ sometimes, but he’d never been _attracted_ to another guy.

The feelings he had for Eric Cartman, were something that went _beyond,_ a typical attraction. Fuck, he’d never felt that protective and dedicated towards a _girl,_ before. He _liked_ girls. He thought they were hot, smart, the whole deal, he _really_ liked girls. And he truthfully didn’t see himself liking another guy, again. So, how _Eric Cartman_ had become the exception, he didn’t know.

What he _did_ know, was that it was a lot easier to just fucking lean down, take Eric’s face in his hands, and kiss him, than keep insisting, that he didn’t give a shit. He _liked_ it. He _liked_ kissing Eric Cartman, under the stars, as snow made its way down from the sky, dusting the long lashes, of those big blue eyes. He must have been _really_ into Eric. Because suddenly, he wasn’t “fatass” anymore, he was just...sweet and chubby...all _soft_ around the edges. Kyle _liked_ that about him.

But did it mean he and Cartman, should have taken things, to an entirely new _place?_ Was it _good_ to be enthralled by each other, that way?

Maybe not.

Kyle didn’t want to think about it, yet. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

He never did.

 

* * *

 

Kyle was surprised when Cartman made no effort to visit him, as they finished up the holidays. They’d had a few awkward conversations over text, where neither mentioned _anything_ about that night, but Kyle had kind of half-expected Eric to rush over to his house on New Year’s Day and…do _something_ dramatic. Like profess his undying love or latch onto him or ask him if they were a “couple”. Something like that. But he _didn’t._ And it actually slightly _worried_ him. Seeing the expressive tears and light dancing in his eyes that night, Kyle was pretty damn certain, Eric Cartman was into him. _Heavy,_ into him. So where the hell _was_ he?

The first Monday back at school, he arrived with butterflies in his tummy. Which was fucking _annoying._ He was starting to get very resentful, about the entire concept of _Eric Cartman_ eliciting butterflies from his stomach, and then not bothering to even visit him after they’d quite literally made-out on New Year’s Eve. What a snub. In fact, he probably wouldn’t even bother _speaking_ to Eric, even if he made the effort to talk to Kyle. It was irresponsible behaviour, on Eric’s part, especially since they had therapy after class.

_“Kyle!”_

He turned around, to be greeted by none other than Kenny McCormick, who pushed his way past a few other students, making his way for Kyle’s locker. Where _Cartman_ should have been, that morning. Their lockers were right by each other.

_“Hey,”_ Kyle mumbled, digging through his locker for a few textbooks.

“What’s up?” he asked, leaning up against the lockers. “You didn’t reply to our group chat. It’s been like, a week.”

“I’ve been _busy…”_ Kyle lied. Truthfully, he _had_ been a bit busy, between working on a few things for debate club and going to the gym, but mostly, he’d spent the past seven days, thinking about Eric Cartman.

Kenny smirked, leaning inwards, speaking in a lowered tone. “With _Cartman?”_

Kyle’s head spun around, in an instant. _“Excuse me?”_

“New Year’s Eve…” Kenny drawled. “You guys left, and never came back. Stan is still pretty pissed.”

“Oh, fuck that,” Kyle slammed his locker shut. “I mean...what was he gonna be doing at that party _anyway,_ besides hooking-up with Wendy and drinking himself to death?”

“I think he just wanted to hang out with you, dude,” Kenny shrugged, as the two made their way down the hall. “I dunno why you guys can’t just get along, nowadays.”

“Because he’s...no, you _and_ Stan, are constantly on my _dick_ about _Cartman,_ these days,” Kyle grumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Ahhh, _yeah,”_ Kenny scoffed. “And, as usual, it _all_ leads back to _Cartman.”_

“Shut-up,” Kyle stared at his feet, as they shuffled past other students. A few had tans, probably from tropical holiday vacations. Neither could relate.

“Okay, but Kyle, in all seriousness,” said Kenny, walking out in front of him, in an attempt to block Kyle off. “What _happened?”_

Kyle looked off to the side, hoping his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “Why do you assume something _happened?”_

“I dunno,” Kenny laughed. “Because you arrived at Stan’s, in a panic, two days early, desperately searching for _Cartman?_ I mean, it’s not really anything new for either of you, but I’m just kinda used to you being fucking pissed at him, and not…”  
_“...not?”_

Kenny snickered, turning on his heel. “I dunno... _desperate_ to see him?”

Kyle picked up his pace, trailing behind him. _“Desperate?!_ What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Kenny sighed, taking Kyle by the arm, and pulling him aside, over to a broom closet, so they were out of earshot from the other students. “Kyle, you, uh...you know he’s in _love_ with you, right?”

Kyle’s whole face turned red, and he bit down on his lip in annoyance. “God, Kenny, don’t _say_ shit like that!”

_“What?”_ Kenny shrugged. “Was it some big _secret,_ I mean, didn’t he serenade you on national TV once?”

“Just to fuck with me,” Kyle defended, annoyance growing by the minute. _Why_ had he made out with that guy, again?

“You know what they say, man, every joke is _half_ true,” Kenny smirked, with another shrug, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. “Look, dude, I’m just _saying_...if you and Cartman _like_ each other, everyone—”

_“No,”_ Kyle said, shaking his head, and trying his very hardest to avoid eye contact. His cheeks _had_ to be redder than his hair, by then. “Me and _Eric Cartman_ do not... _Jesus Christ,_ Kenny, what the _fuck?!_ You know, it’s possible for me and Cartman to hang-out, and not be like...where the fuck do you even get off, _saying_ shit like—”

_“Kyle,”_ said Kenny, taking him by the shoulders. “I know Cartman’s a fucking mess, but...I mean, you know better than anybody, why he _is_ that way. It’s fucked up, but you clearly really _care_ about him, so just quit trying to bullshit everyone.”

“I’m not into guys.”

“That’s what I said too, but they give _way_ better head than girls do,” he shrugged. “You can swing both _ways,_ you know.”

Kyle scoffed. _“Kenny—”_

“Look, obviously it’s all up to you guys to work out,” said Kenny, raising his hands in defense. “But, like...no one can say they didn’t see this coming.”

“See _what_ coming?”

“You’re smarter than this,” Kenny grinned, shaking his head, and turning back on his heel again. “See you ‘round.”

Kyle _was_ smarter than that. Sometimes, he just really wished he wasn’t.

 

* * *

 

Kyle had started to sincerely believe, that Eric Cartman had disappeared off the face of the earth because, by last period, he _still_ hadn’t seen him at school. They had to leave for Denver, _right_ after school, just to make it to the therapist’s office on time. Kyle hated being fucking late. And he knew Cartman _needed_ to see his doctor. They weren’t even a fucking couple, and he was already going into full-on protection-mode. Maybe they _were_ a couple then. If Kyle truly reflected on it, all the signs were there:

  * Codependent to a fault
  * Constant and meaningless bickering
  * Fighting over the radio station
  * Playing chauffeur
  * Kissing underneath the stars, also (that was a big one)



Hmm...maybe Kenny _had_ been onto something, there.

But as the last bell rang, Kyle threw his stuff together, zipped up his bag, and made his way outside, still in a foul mood. Stan and Kenny, walked ahead of him, carrying on some conversation about a new video game release, or boobs, Kyle was very unsure, but it was probably about one or the other. He continued _not_ thinking about Cartman when, unfortunately, he was confronted by his one big _issue_ , nearly head-on.

_“Cartman!”_

Kenny teasingly punched Kyle in the arm, urging him to look up from where his eyes had been glued to the ground and over to Eric Cartman, who was leaned up against the back of the school, smoking a cigarette. God, he was smoking, _again?_ Didn’t he realize how _unhealthy_ that was? He had been so anti-smoking as a kid. Kyle just didn’t get how his brain functioned.

The minute Cartman locked eyes with Kyle, he dropped his cigarette, stomping it out, against the pavement. “Oh, uh, hey, guys.”

“Bum me a cig?” asked Kenny, holding out his hand, as Cartman reached into his jacket, for a package of cigarettes.

“You guys are gonna have _lung cancer,_ by the time you’re 31,” Kyle glared. Stan seemed completely indifferent.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kenny winked. “I’m _immortal_ , remember?”

He needed to stop joking about that. It was weird.

Kenny lit his own cigarette, taking a drag, and then slinging an arm around Stan’s shoulder. “C’mon, Stan. We’ve gotta go.”

_“What?”_ asked Stan, in confusion. “Wait, where are we going?”

“You know. The mall.”

“We’re going to the _mall,_ today? When was _that_ decided?”

“Just now,” Kenny said, shooting Kyle a look. “Now, let’s _go.”_

Stan shook his head and gave Kyle a weird look, but followed Kenny along. Kyle almost _begged_ the two to stay, because, between just he and Cartman, things were about to get _awkward._ The moment they were out of sight and earshot, Kyle went into lecture-mode.

“You’re _smoking,_ again?” Kyle hissed.

_“Yeah,”_ Eric looked away. “So _what?”_

“So, you want _lung cancer?”_ asked Kyle, approaching him. “Do you have _any_ idea how dangerous those things are?”

“Thanks, _dad.”_

Kyle snorted in derision. “Do you have _any_ idea, at _all,_ how _stupid_ you look, smoking cigarettes? You’re like, this chubby little thing, with big blue fucking eyes, smoking cigarettes; you don’t look _tough.”_

“It’s a bad habit! I do it when I’m stressed,” Cartman snapped. “Why do you suddenly _care?”_

“Oh, no, not _this,_ again,” Kyle groaned. “How many times do I have to _tell_ you, I _always_ care?”

“You didn’t care enough to _call_ me,” Eric choked, looking away.

Kyle gapped. “Call _you?_ You didn’t fucking call _me!”_

_“You’re_ the one who kissed _me,_ you should have called,” Eric said, arms crossed over his chest.

Kyle gasped, blinking widely. “I’m sorry, _what? I_ didn’t kiss _you.”_

“Yes, you _did!”_

“Why would it be _me,_ who initiated it?”

“Because I’ve wanted to kiss you since fourth grade, I was just waiting for _you!”_ he blurted, and Kyle’s stomach clenched.

“Wait... _really?”_ he hesitated, moving in a little closer.

“Yeah, duh,” said Eric, looking away, a little shyly. “I mean...don’t take it _that_ seriously though, Kyle, please.”

“So when you were constantly teasing me, and being a fucking ass and we were _fighting,_ you had a _crush_ on me?”

Eric’s cheeks turned a dark shade of red. “Okay, well, don’t _embarrass_ me, Kyle.”

“You are... _so_ fucked up.”

“You don’t think I _know_ that, Kyle?” he asked, with a shaky sigh. “It’s not easy growing up with a homophobic mother, _and_ now her fucking asshole _boyfriend.”_

Kyle stuffed his hands in his pockets, leaning up against the wall beside Cartman. “I didn’t know your mom was homophobic, too.”

“Uh...I dunno,” he mumbled. “She used to make offhand comments, when I was a kid, like...I dunno...she made comments like that about _everyone._ I guess she’s better now.”

“But now she’s dating that fucking prick,” Kyle aimlessly kicked at some gravel.

_“Yeah,”_ Eric muttered. “Fuck that guy.”

“I guess we know where your self-loathing tendencies come from,” Kyle brisked.

“Kyle...I never hated you, because I hate _you..._ I hated that I...you know...had _feelings_ for someone who hated _me,_ and my mom would hate, if she knew I liked.”

“...my head hurts,” Kyle winced. The wording was painful, but he got the bottom line of the message. “Cartman...I...I didn’t _hate_ you. I mean, _sometimes_ I really did, but honestly, I just really cared about you and felt like you didn’t care at _all,_ and that made it even worse.”

“You _cared_ about me?” he asked, eyes shiny. His eyes were just, _so,_ so blue, how could Kyle stay mad at him, when he had eyes the colour of the sky?

“Don’t look at me like that,” Kyle blushed. “How many times do I have to tell you that I fucking _care_ about you, before you get it?”

He grinned softly, cheeks turning pink. “Just say it, _one_ more time?”

_“Asshole,”_ Kyle grumbled, looking away, as his own face heated up and a smile he was desperately trying to hide, crept up upon his face. “I _care_ about you.”

So, Cartman _had_ been harboring a resentful crush on him, for essentially, forever, while Kyle had assumed he’d _hated_ him, and while Kyle secretly really cared about _Eric,_ and resented himself for it too, Cartman had assumed _Kyle_ hated _him._ It was for the very same reason, they were arguing instead of kissing, right then and there too: self-doubt, self-loathing, and miscommunication.

“I love it when you say sweet things like that, to me,” Eric admitted, evading Kyle’s eyes. He was wearing Kyle’s scarf, as usual, which Kyle was starting to think was really, fucking _cute._

“Oh, _please,”_ Kyle laughed softly, moving in closer on Eric, and playing with his scarf. “I can’t believe you’re still wearing this.”

“You aren’t wearing yours,” Eric muttered, softly, pulling at one of the zippers on Kyle’s jacket.

“I was mad at you, remember?” Kyle confessed. “I thought, uh...I thought you were _avoiding_ me, or like…regretting New Year’s Eve, or something, I dunno…”

_“Kyle,”_ said Eric, swallowing the lump in his throat, as he stared upwards, into piercing, green eyes. “New Year’s Eve was seriously the _best_ thing that ever _happened_ to me.”

“God, your life is pathetic,” Kyle rolled his eyes, wishing it wasn’t obvious how red he was turning. He leaned downwards, lips connecting with Eric’s, for the first time again since New Year’s. Seriously, _fuck_ Kenny for being so right, _god,_ were they ever into each other. Kyle was grateful that the school had cleared out and the parking lot was empty, because he certainly didn’t want to stop, and he knew Eric would never let him, either. He was pulled further into the kiss, Eric tugging at his jacket, and Kyle holding on by the back of his neck, hands brushing up against his soft, and cool hair. God, it had felt like so _long_ since he’d made-out with someone, regularly. Now he had to wonder if this _was_ going to be happening regularly.

Eric pulled back away, taking Kyle by surprise, for once. Eric was _never_ the first to let go if he was clutching to Kyle’s arm, or resting his head up against his chest or shoulder, or now, if they were kissing.

_“What?”_ Kyle asked, brows knitting together in confusion.

“You know we’re in public, right?”

_“Yeah…”_ Kyle sighed, running his hands back down along Eric’s scarf. “We should stop.”

“I mean, you don’t _have_ to,” said Eric, moving back up to kiss Kyle, but he was pushed away, softly. “What the _fuck,_ Kyle, let me kiss you!”

_“Denver,”_ Kyle reminded him, with a groan. It was a _long_ drive, and they were running late. “You have therapy, in like, an hour and a half, _fuck.”_

Eric nuzzled up to his chest, purring into Kyle’s jacket. “Hmmm, but maybe _kissing_ you some more, would be therapeutic…”

_“No,”_ said Kyle, gently pushing him back down. “You have to _actually_ go to a therapist.”

“You’re so good to me.”

“Yeah, yeah, _yeah…”_ Kyle bit his lip, cheeks heating right back up again, as Eric latched on his arm, resting his head up against his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

God, Kenny was right. He and Cartman were _really_ that into each other.

It was _all_ happening.

 

* * *

 

Neither had decided, per say, that is was a “secret” relationship or a relationship at _all,_ but both Kyle and Eric had an unspoken agreement, that it had to be pretty private. Of course, Eric still wanted to whine, and latch onto Kyle, even when they hung-out with Stan and Kenny, and Kenny would give them knowing looks, and Kyle _hated_ those knowing looks, but he really... _really..._ liked Eric Cartman. Like, he _really_ liked him.

And it hadn’t even been an entire week yet, but when Eric begged Kyle to take him to the mall on Saturday, he didn’t even _hesitate_ to pick him up. They walked around Barnes  & Noble, as Eric clung to Kyle’s side, like plastic wrap, and later stole food off of his tray, when they grabbed an early dinner. He wasn’t sure if they were “dating” or whatever, but Kyle wasn’t into anyone else, and he knew _Cartman_ wasn’t into anyone else, either.

And on Saturday night, when the four went over to Stan’s to play video games and get casually drunk, the minute the others stepped out of the room, Kyle wanted to make-out. Maybe it was because alcohol made him a bit more horny and flirtatious, but it didn’t matter, Eric never rejected said-kisses, and if Kyle kept his eye on the door, he could pull away before they got caught. Then, when Stan and Kenny returned with snacks, he’d be left with a giggly and lovestruck Eric, while Kenny gave him a suggestive glance and Kyle had to pretend like he and his “ex-arch-nemesis” hadn’t just been kissing on the couch. God, what a weird year it was turning out to be. And they were only _two weeks in._

On Sunday night, Eric wanted to go to the movies, with Kyle. He never had any money, but Kyle had no problem paying and he knew Eric wasn’t using him, because he never fucking stopped trying to cuddle, when they were together. Maybe it would have been _easier_ if he'd thought Cartman _was_ using him, but he wasn’t. He just sincerely, and truly, wanted to spend as much time as humanly possible, at Kyle’s side. It was just that for the time being, they couldn’t really hang-out at Kyle’s. And there was no _way,_ they were risking it at Eric’s house. So going to the mall and Stark’s Pond was kind of the only option.

Sunday, however, Kyle couldn’t take him to the movies, because he was having Stan and Wendy over, for debate practice. Their tournament had been postponed until the end of January, but the three still had a lot to practice for. _Especially_ Stan. He was still a bit nervous about the public-speaking aspect, which Kyle didn’t really understand. Maybe it was an anxiety related thing, but either way, Wendy had ways of coaching him through it.

He used to think it was weird and even slightly pathetic, how heavily Stan relied on Wendy for emotional support. But now watching as she coached him through his speech, eyes locked, with a steady hand on Stan’s shoulder, Kyle realized he might have been a hypocrite. Maybe falling that hard for someone, really did change your entire perspective, on the world. He felt as if he were watching himself, and Eric. It was _that_ real.

“I think we’re all set, to be honest,” said Wendy, with a sigh, as she and Stan started packing up to go home. “Next Monday, we have the team dinner at Sizzler, and then we’ll take off for Denver.”

_“Sizzler?”_ asked Stan. “I thought it was Denny’s.”

“Kevin suggested Sizzler, so I think we’re changing it,” Wendy shrugged. “Kyle, Sizzler or Denny’s?”

Kyle looked up from the table, where he’d been tracing his finger along the surface. It had been hard to focus, that past little while. _“What?”_

“For the team dinner. Before we head out to Denver.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, closing his own notebook. He’d gotten _zero_ work done during their “study session”, but it didn’t matter anyway. His speech was completed over a month ago. “What day is it?”

“Monday. Not tomorrow, but the week after.”

_“Monday…”_ he nodded, then sitting up straight in his chair. “Oh no, I can’t do Monday.”

“Why not?” asked Wendy, brows knitting together. “Kyle, we’ve known about this for weeks, now.”

Mondays were therapy days. He had to drive Eric. “No, I...I can’t do Mondays, in general, I have stuff to do.”

“You don’t really have a choice, dude,” Stan scoffed, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “What could you possibly be doing on Monday, that’s more important than a _debate_ tournament?”

It was _really,_ fucking important. “Look, uh...when does the tournament begin?”

“6:30,” said Wendy, pulling a woolen hat over her head. January weather was absolutely _freezing._ Especially, at night. “We’re getting out of class early.”

“Okay, that’s fine,” Kyle mumbled. “I’ll just skip dinner.”

“You’re the co-captain,” said Stan, as he and Wendy made their way to the front door. “You can’t just skip team dinner.”

“It’s just _dinner,_ Stan, Jesus Christ.”

“It’s _fine,_ Stan,” Wendy sighed, turning to her boyfriend and whispering something to him, in a hushed tone. Stan gave Kyle one last, _weird_ look, and then opened the door, heading out to his girlfriend’s car.

“Wendy, I’m not trying to be difficult, I just—”

“Is everything okay?” she asked, voice thick with concern. “Look...Stan says you’ve been distant lately, and...well, I really don’t wanna intrude, but when I went to the washroom earlier...I heard your parents fighting, I mean...if you’re struggling, I understand. Senior year has been tough on me too so far, and I think Stan really misses you.”

He sighed. Wendy was only coming from a place of concern, but he _really_ didn’t like that other people were starting to pick up on the weirdness between his parents. They argued in private, sometimes louder than he was certain they intended to, and he hoped Ike hadn’t noticed it. Honestly, Kyle hadn’t paid a lot of mind to his parents recently, as he had been a little caught up in the colour of Eric Cartman’s eyes, but it _was_ cause for concern.

“Everything is fine,” he insisted. “On Mondays, I just...I have to run errands. That’s it. I just don’t like getting off of track, but I’ll be there in time for the tournament. I wouldn’t let anyone down.”

“I know that, Kyle. But listen, if anyone should be hearing this, it’s _Stan,”_ she hesitated. “I mean, you know how sensitive he is...I think he feels left out. He keeps going on and on, about you and Eric _Cartman,_ and I—”

_“Cartman?”_ Kyle glared. “What’s he saying about _Cartman?!”_

“Nothing!” she narrowed her eyes. “She just thinks you’re spending too much time together. I told him I don’t get it either, but he—”

“I’m allowed to have other... _friends,_ Wendy,” Kyle scoffed, opening the door for her. “You can tell _that,_ to Stan.”

_“Well..._ alright, then,” Wendy blinked, tugging on the strap of her large tote-bag. “I’ll see you in Mathletes, tomorrow.”

_“Goodnight,”_ he mumbled, shutting the storm door, behind her. He liked and respected Wendy Testaburger, but didn’t need her and her boyfriend, up in his business about _Eric Cartman._ Cartman was _his_ responsibility. _His_ business. _His_ problem. And it was nobody’s _business,_ what went on between the two of them. Best friends or not, Stan had no right, encroaching on his personal life, like that. He knew Cartman had a past that was beyond rough around the edges, but he didn’t like the implication that Stan was making...like he was being _toyed_ with or something. It didn’t matter. Kyle knew Eric Cartman, better than anyone else did, and he knew that his feelings for Kyle were sincere. So sincere, in fact, it mindfucked him sometimes, knowing that someone out there, especially someone he’d used to fight with on a daily basis, had crushed on him _that_ intensely, for _so_ long. And that he _still_ felt that way. _Hard._

So, fuck ‘em. He dialed Eric’s phone number and only listened to one ring before there was an answer.

_“Hey,”_ Kyle smiled, to himself. God, he was turning into such a sucker. “You still wanna go to the movies?”

_“Do I get to pick the music, on the way over?”_

“Even if say ‘no’, I know you’ll piss me off ‘til you get your way.”

_“Yeah…”_ said the giggling voice at the other end. _“Pick me up for 8.”_

Holy _shit,_ he was literally _dating,_ Eric Cartman. What a weird, brand new, out of body, sort of feeling. It was complex, it was strange, and although it felt entirely _doomed,_ Kyle was completely, and _totally_ drawn in.

And that was only the _beginning._


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> guys...grammarly says there are ZERO errors with this...either i'm improving as a writer, or like, my grammarly is broken. praying for the former. this update is up late bc i had mental cockblock.  
> also guys...i love y'all but stop hating stanny ): he's not a bad guy...he's a SAD guy...he just misses his bestie...
> 
> recap: kyle and eric made-out again. they're like a thing i guess. stan and kyle are not getting along very well.
> 
> OH ALSO GUESS WHAT??? two more blessed angels have done fanart for moi. god bless. god fucking bless tumblr artists. anyway, ace and hidden...i'd die for u over and over again. go check it out hyah:  
> [jimvalmers](https://jimvalmers.tumblr.com/post/176590210131/kylebiased-ur-fic-makes-me-cry-esp-that-eric-oof)  
> [hidden-in-sp](https://hidden-in-sp.tumblr.com/post/176676812091/fanart-for-i-do-it-for-you-by-kylebiased-behind)
> 
> when u guys make me fanart it makes me cry ): it's so nice of u guys like idk what i did to deserve all that niceness, but thank u forever
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

Kyle didn’t mind the hour and 40 minute long drive into Denver, if it meant Eric got the help he so obviously needed.

He also didn’t mind spending an hour and 40 minutes driving, if Eric was cuddling up, at his side. Kyle was totally into him, and totally embarrassed _about_ how into him he was, but at least the feelings were _far_ from one-sided. In fact, the way he was behaving, Kyle was pretty certain Eric was more into him than he was. Or maybe, Kyle was still just too stubborn to be honest with himself, and admit he wanted Eric in the worst way. Lusting for a boy, let alone, _Eric Cartman,_ felt like a foreign concept to Kyle, but he hadn’t _gotten some_ in months. Still...he wasn’t about to force anything. Cuddliness was still freaking him out enough.

Kyle’s debate tournament was that same evening. Stan and Wendy, had left class early, with Jimmy and the other members of the debate team, to get dinner before driving into Denver. Kyle was opting to skip eating that night, in favour of making sure Eric got to his therapist on time. He could just eat something in the car.

Kyle worried about Eric’s sleep schedule, because not 20 minutes into the drive, Eric was already falling asleep, cuddled up against his shoulder. He got the vibe, that Eric’s life had really zero rules to it, when he essentially lived parentless at home. He needed to be taken care of. However, why _he,_ was always the one who felt obligated to care for Eric, even since childhood, was still a foreign concept to him.

 _“Wake up,”_ Kyle nudged him, softly. “If you fall asleep on the way over, you’ll still be all groggy when we arrive.”

“But, Kyle, I’m _tired.”_

“You need to get more sleep.”

“It’s _your_ fault, you know.”

 _“My_ fault?” Kyle scoffed. “How is it _my_ fault?”

“‘Cause all I do all night is think about _you,”_ Eric batted his eyelashes, teasingly, wrapping his arm back around Kyle’s right side.

Kyle’s cheeks lit up, and he tried as hard as he could to remain focused on the road. _“Stop…”_

 _“Cuddle_ with me.”

“I’m _driving,”_ said Kyle, stomach twisting into a few knots. If he’d thought Cartman was cuddly _before_ they were a thing, then he had no idea how affectionate he’d be, now that they _were._

_“Ky-le…”_

He slipped a hand off the wheel, wrapping around Eric’s left arm, and lacing their fingers together. _“That_ better?”

 _“So_ much better,” Eric purred, resting his head on Kyle’s shoulder. “You always smell so good…”

“It’s cologne,” said Kyle. He nuzzled up to Eric’s cheek, with the back of the hand that was still locked right around his. Unlike Eric’s grand gestures, affection from Kyle was typically more subtle. “My mom buys me the same kind every Hanukkah.”

“AXE?”

“Obviously _not,”_ Kyle mumbled, as Eric giggled, latching all the way around his right arm. “I think it’s Burberry...I dunno.”

“You’re such a _boy,_ Kyle,” Eric teased, burying his face into Kyle’s jacket. “How can you wear the same scent for years, and still not know what it’s called?”

“‘Cause I’m not as girly as _you_ are.”

“Hey, I’m not _girly!”_

“You’ve been into _crossdressing,_ since we were kids.”

“Oh. Right,” sighed Eric, re-adjusting his position on Kyle’s shoulder. “I made you another playlist.”

“I can’t handle listening to anymore Britney Spears, Cartman. I thought she stopped making music 10 years ago.”

“No, shut up, _Kyle,_ I’m trying to be romantic.”

“You don’t have to be romantic, I already _like_ you.”

Eric raised his face, from his resting place against Kyle’s jacket, peering wide-eyed, up at Kyle. _“Really?”_

Kyle’s cheeks heated back up again. Eric Cartman was a mixture of obnoxious and sweet, and now, obnoxiously-sweet. “How often do I have to reassure you that I like you, before you’ll stop asking?”

“I dunno. Probably, like, daily.”

Kyle wasn’t even that dedicated to any of his ex- _girlfriends._ “So, what? Me taking you to therapy every week, two hours away, isn’t reassurance enough?”

“It is,” Eric sighed. “I just like hearing it again.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, but found the attention endearing. “Well...yes. Against my better judgment, I like you…” he muttered. _“A lot.”_

“I like you, too.”

“No kidding,” Kyle scoffed, but he didn’t mind the affectionate tone and attention. Not in the least. “This “I like you” stuff, is so fourth grade.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to say?”

“I dunno…”

“I can come up with better,” Eric murmured. “What do you want, like, poems and stuff?”

 _“God,_ no,” Kyle bit his lip. “Do _not_ write me love poems.”

“Too late.”

“That’s... _gay.”_

Eric sighed. _“I know…”_

Kyle wasn’t sure how to be as affectionate as Eric was with him. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the same, strong, feelings, it was just that it was fairly new and while he didn’t mind, making out on the couch, when Liane and her boyfriend were gone, if it came down to actually expressing feelings through words, Kyle _sucked_ at it. Which was hilarious. Because all he ever did was fucking _talk._ He just squeezed on tighter, free hand laced with Eric’s, and hoped that it was affection enough.

It was.

 

* * *

 

Typically, all Kyle had to do for Eric, was drop him off at the large office complex in downtown Denver, so he could go upstairs and check-in himself. Then, Kyle would wait around in his car and text, or go out and grab a coffee; find _something_ to do to keep himself busy. There wasn’t much to do in a fairly unfamiliar city, all alone. He had promised Eric, that one night after therapy, they’d go get a _real_ dinner. Like, go on a _real_ date. But he refused to tell him _what_ night it would be, because he knew if Eric knew, he’d make a giant show out of it and probably wear something stupid and Kyle didn’t want to draw too much attention to them.

Tonight, however, would not be that night.

The moment Kyle saw Eric trail into the building, he took off in his car, address of their debate tournament location in his phone’s GPS. He’d have to drive back in an hour, to pick-up his... _whatever,_ he was, but for the time being, he knew Stan and Wendy would both take delight in kicking his ass, if he missed the beginning of the competition. He figured he could make it back later, slip out quickly and then just bring him back and make Eric wait in the car or take a nap or something. He could _not_ afford to miss a thing, but he also wasn’t about to make Eric wait around in a city he barely knew. Gerald was lucky enough to have a plan with a therapist who stayed in the office, past 5 PM, but the building closed soon after that, and it was unfair to make him wait outside.

Kyle arrived just on time. The tournament was being hosted by some random Catholic private school, the type with uniforms, and plaques all over the walls. There had been a time, many years back, after Kyle had graduated from junior high, where Sheila and Gerald had considered sending him to a Jewish school like this, in Denver, because of how high his grades were. Kyle didn’t _want_ to go though. And neither did his friends. _Especially,_ Cartman. Of course, he hadn’t phrased it in the nice way _Stan_ had, and more or less, the offensive and panicked way, but he had been _very_ upset. Maybe he should have caught on sooner, that Eric had always been into him.

Stan and Wendy were waiting in the lobby. Wendy was silently-mouthing her speech, flipping through colour-coded cue cards, one at a time. The teams had all been given a debate topic, and they were to start off with a speech. From there, they had time to come up with a rebuttal, go back to the other team, and then compete. It was actually only the beginning of a longer tournament; the team to win that round, would advance to the next competition. Kyle was pretty certain they would. Between he, Wendy, and Jimmy, they had a lot of strong public-speakers. Jimmy’s disability never prevented him from being one of the strongest members of their team.

“Dude, where _were_ you?” asked Stan. Wendy averted her eyes from her cue cards, making contact with Kyle’s.

“I _told_ you,” Kyle muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I had some errands to run.”

Stan eyed him suspiciously, then looking back down. He just looked kind of... _sad._ “Did you practice your speech?”

 _“Of course,_ I did,” Kyle grumbled. “I’ve had it prepared since _November.”_

“Great,” Wendy, muttered, flipping through the pages of their schedule they’d been given. “So, it looks like, we’ll start giving presentations in about, half an hour...I’ll start, followed by Jimmy, Kyle, and then Stan. It’s not one, continuous debate. We’re doing them in sections.”

“Cool,” said Kyle, digging through his bag, for the binder that held his speech. “So, what time am I going on?”

“About...7:00…probably later...” Wendy nodded, scribbling something against her clipboard. “Ten-minute speeches, five-minute break in between. Stan, do you remember the breathing techniques we practiced?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning up against the wall, and tugging on his sleeves. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“Great,” she said, firmly. “Oh, and I shouldn’t have to say this, but we’re at a _formal_ tournament. _No hats.”_

“Don’t look at _me,”_ mumbled Stan, pulling off his hat. _“I’m_ not the one who still religiously wears...whatever, that thing’s called.”

“Stan, do you have a _problem,_ with me?” Kyle narrowed his eyes, unzipping his jacket. He _had_ dressed nicely. So _what,_ if he was still wearing a hat? It was cold outside.

 _“No,”_ Stan shrugged. “I just think it’s weird you haven’t outgrown that thing.”

“It’s not the same one from _elementary school,_ for fuck’s sake,” Kyle rolled his eyes. “It’s just a _hat.”_

 _“Seriously?_ Could you save the arguing for the tournament, next hour?” Wendy scoffed. “You’re both acting like children.”

“One of us, isn’t _acting,”_ Kyle narrowed his eyes.

“What’s your _deal,_ dude?”

“This is stupid,” Wendy declared, standing between the two. “I don’t know _why_ you two can’t get along recently, but it has to change. I’m not going to mediate arguments like this, anymore. You’re _best friends._ Figure it out, while I use the washroom.” She shook her head, placing her bag back down, beside Stan’s, and headed off in the opposite direction, down the hallway.

“She’s right. This is stupid,” Kyle crossed his arms, over each other. “I don’t know _why,_ you suddenly have a problem with me, but it’s pissing me off.”

“What’s with you and Cartman?”

Kyle blinked. It wasn’t a question he had anticipated, although maybe he _should_ have. “Wait, _what?”_

“What is with, _you_ and _Cartman?”_ Stan asked. He asked, as if it had _ever_ been _simple._ “I really just don’t get it, Kyle. You started out fighting again this year, and now all you do is avoid me, and I see you and Cartman giving each other these looks all the time, like…”

Kyle swallowed the lump in his throat. “Well, the thing...I mean, it’s not—”

“I thought _we_ were best friends,” Stan mumbled. “I don’t mean to sound like a pussy, but...I dunno...I feel... _replaced._ I know that sounds fucking...ugh, whatever, you know what I’m saying.”

 _Oh._ Oh, thank _god,_ Stan was so oblivious. He thought Kyle and Cartman were suddenly besties. That was a lot easier to explain than, you know, them shoving each other’s tongues down their throats. “No, no, _no,_ Stan, it’s not like that!” Kyle insisted, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Cartman and I...we’re not, _best friends,_ you know, he’s just…”

 _Cute?_ Annoying, in a really _endearing_ way? A surprisingly good _kisser?_

“...going through a really rough _time,_ so I’ve been helping him out, a little.”

“Is _that_ the errand you’re talking about?” Stan asked. “Look, Kyle, I know Cartman’s gotten a lot better since we were kids, but he’s still _Cartman._ You know, the guy who practically sabotages all your relationships...and—”

“Just _stop,_ Stan, _I_ sabotage all my relationships, by fixating too hard on Ca—”

Stan’s eyebrows were knitted together. “By, what?”

“Never mind,” Kyle murmured. “Look, I know what I’m doing, dude. You have to trust me to make my own decisions. You’re my _friend,_ not my _mother.”_

“You still didn’t answer my question, Kyle,” said Stan, in a grim tone. “Those _errands,_ you have every Monday...are you doing something for Cartman?”

 _“No,_ Stan, don’t worry about it,” Kyle lied. “It’s just...it’s stuff for my mom, you know. She could use the help around the house.”

“Oh,” Stan nodded. “Well...I’m sorry for doubting you, I guess...I just miss how often we used to hang-out. I feel like you put Cartman before anything else.”

Kyle laughed, hoping his cheeks weren’t reddening. “Oh, come on, Stan, that’s not true.”

“No, I’m being serious, dude,” Stan stared him, dead in the eyes. “Ever since we were kids, you and him have had this... _fascination,_ with each other. Whether it’s positive, or negative. You put fights with each other, discussions with each other, _everything_ with each other, _first._ It’s weird, and _really,_ really annoying.”

“That’s just not true,” Kyle muttered. “Look, maybe we have a complicated...relationship, but he’s never been my first _priority.”_

“Whatever you say, dude,” Stan shrugged. “I’ve only known you guys my entire life.”

“Look, Stan, this weekend, why don’t we hang-out, or something?” Kyle hesitated. “I’m not trying to shit out on you or anything, you know, it’s just...life gets in the way of things.”

“I get it,” Stan nodded. “We’re cool, then?”

“We were _always_ cool.”

Stan rolled his eyes, with a smile, leaning up against the wall; hands stuffed in his pockets. “Okay, okay, fine...we can hang-out this weekend.”

“Great, dude,” Kyle grinned. “See? I dunno why you—”

“You guys made up?”

Wendy was back.

“Yeah, we’re cool,” said Stan, giving Kyle a look. “Don’t worry.”

“Great!” Wendy chirped. “So, let’s get to our classroom for practice, then!”

And everything was cool again.

 

* * *

 

For like, an hour or two.

The group had practiced their speeches, giving each other pointers and scratching out poorly used words for new ones, Kyle breezing through paragraph, upon paragraph, his words all versed and practically memorized...it was going to be a cinch. He really wished he could have put the debate tournament on his Columbia application (as Kyle intended to win), but he supposed since his interview had gone well, it was enough.

When the rounds began, Wendy went up first, and the others waited behind, in their designated classroom. Kyle was in the middle of wondering if the students they were competing with ever found their uniforms overly stuffy or not, when his phone rang.

Jimmy was practicing his speech in a hushed tone, while Stan tried taking a nap, with his head facing downward, onto his desk. Or maybe he was just stressed out. Probably both. Kyle knew who was calling, instantly. He quickly slipped out into the hallway, trying to avoid catching Stan’s attention by making too much noise, or giving him the opportunity to question him.

 _“What?”_ Kyle asked, in a harshly whispered tone, speaking into his phone. “What do you want?”

 _“You don’t have to be so_ rude, _Kyle,”_ Eric scoffed, from the other end of the call. _“I’m waiting.”_

“I told you, you might have to wait for awhile,” Kyle muttered. “I’m supposed to present soon.”

 _“But,_ Kyle, _they’re closing up the office in 15 minutes, and I have nowhere to go.”_

 _Normally,_ Kyle would tell him to go somewhere and wait. But it got really dark at night, in the winter. And Eric _never_ had money on him. And it was downtown, in a fairly unfamiliar city and the obligation to Eric, that Kyle felt, especially now that they were... _whatever,_ they were, was almost _instinctual._ The office building wasn’t _that_ far. Wendy had just gone on, and Jimmy was after her.

Kyle wouldn’t leave him stranded.

“Okay, fine,” Kyle mumbled. “I’m on my way, but you _have_ to be ready on time.”

_“I will.”_

“I’m serious, Cartman,” Kyle lectured. “If I’m late for my presentation, Stan and Wendy will have my fucking _head,_ for it.”

 _“Kyle,_ I will.”

Kyle was stressed.

Throwing his jacket back on, and tearing down the hallways, Kyle pushed open the front gates to the high school, and made his way to where he’d parked down the street. He didn’t bother texting Wendy, or going back to tell Jimmy or Stan of his whereabouts; hopefully he wouldn’t _need_ to. Wendy was still on, the Jimmy would present, and that should have given him enough time to race to Eric’s building downtown, and back to the tournament.

But as usual, he and Eric suffered from a lack of communication.

Kyle pulled his car aside, throwing it into park, a few buildings from where his family therapist’s office was. The moment he turned off the engine, he got out of the car, onto his feet. He checked the time. 20 minutes. He had 20 minutes, until his speech, and it took about 15 minutes to get back. They had to _go._

He pushed through the glass doors leading into the lobby, rushing to the elevators and jabbing at the button for the 7th floor. The minute the doors opened, he was in, tapping his boots against the tiled floor of the elevator shaft. Kyle had been...doing _whatever_ he had been doing, with Cartman, for less than a month now, and he was already fucking whipped. He mentally thanked his lucky stars, that Kenny hadn’t found out about he and Eric — in terms of 100% certainty — or he’d be all _over_ this.

Kyle rushed into the waiting room of the office, only stopping in his tracks, when he realized how _nice_ the place was. Modern art hung from the walls, a tiled “waterfall” on display, by the waiting room, expensive-looking laminate flooring...it came as no shock to him, that his father’s firm would have arrangements, with such an obviously highly-ranked, practice.

But more than anything else, Kyle took note of Eric’s absence. He was _not_ sitting in a leather-bound chair, in the waiting room, flipping through an old copy of _People_ magazine, as per usual. He was gone. Kyle scoffed, turning back towards the elevators, when he heard two distinct, female voices, approaching from the hallway.

“Sexual trauma, sprouting from early childhood.”

“Oh, _yeah?”_

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad...he tends to associate sex, with acts of violence; arguing, fighting...There’s evidential trauma related back to his _mother,_ and then to sexual _assault._ And then, he told me, about that the boy he’s with, he was the on—”

“The one always picking him up?”

“Yeah, I believe so, he’s the one who save—”

A middle-aged woman, and what looked like her secretary were instantly silenced, the moment they spotted Kyle in the lobby. He didn’t recognize the woman, as there were several different doctors under Gerald’s firm and he purposely made sure Eric was seeing someone he hadn’t beforehand, as not to add suspicion. Her eyes went wide, the moment they locked with his.

“Oh, my _god,_ you were _supposed_ to lock the doors, when Eric left!”

The secretary was young, and small, and a worried look danced across her eyes. “I thought I did! I didn’t even _realize_ that there were still _people_ here, this late.”

Kyle swallowed the lump that was slowly forming back up again, slowly processing what he’d heard them talking about. “Are you...talking about _Cartman?”_

The doctor’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Who is _Cartman?”_

Kyle shook his head. “Uh, no, I mean... _Eric,_ are you talking about _Eric?”_

The woman sputtered, making uncomfortable eye contact with Kyle. “I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to discuss patient’s histo—”

“Then why are you telling _her,_ about it?” Kyle glared, feeling his body clench up. “If it’s private information, why are you telling _other_ people about it?”

“It’s essential information for a patient’s file, and she is my _secretary,”_ the doctor replied.

“Is that _legal?”_

“You’re Gerald Broflovski’s son, correct?” she asked. “Well, I think it’s _obvious,_ Mr. Broflovski, that at 17, you can’t _possibly_ be _married_ to your boyfriend?”

His cheeks turned bright red. Ah, yes, Kyle knew this was going to come back to bite him in the ass. Since Eric was obviously _not_ a Broflovski-child and his parents were already married, the only way to get him into the practice, was to lie on paperwork and tell them Eric was his _partner._ Eric had _no clue,_ and Kyle didn’t intend to let him know either. He was scared for either a negative _or_ positive response.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Kyle snapped. It was practically automatic and that worried himself too. No, Eric was _not_ his boyfriend; that was something they’d never discussed, it was something he didn’t _want_ to discuss...even if he was A-okay, with the frequent make-out sessions.

“My point being, that we’ve already bent the rules for you once before, in a very significant way, so if you could _please_ excuse our mistake…”

Kyle wasn’t thinking about that. A _lot_ had just happened, in only the span of a few moments, but what the doctor had said about Eric, was all he could think about. He _knew_ Eric Cartman had had a wild ride of a childhood. And he _knew_ he was fucked up in a lot of ways; that was the entire reason _for_ the therapy. But to hear aloud, “he tends to associate sex, with acts of violence”...it sent anxious shivers, down Kyle’s spine. How many time, had he pressed Eric up against the walls of his house, and kissed him as hard as he _could,_ those past few weeks? And was he _hurting_ him?

“Oh, _god,”_ Kyle shook his head. “What was I _thinking?”_

“Mr. Broflovski,” the woman hesitated. “I’m going to have to ask that you _don’t_ tell _Eric,_ about what you overheard. Please keep this information confidential.”

“Oh, so the _one_ thing, you _couldn’t?_ Absolutely, I fucking will.”

“Sir, _please_ —”

“Where is he?”

“He went downstairs, about—”

Kyle stormed out of the office, stabbing at the ‘M’ button, over and over again, as if it would bring the elevator back up, any faster. The doctor and her secretary, watched Kyle, from behind the glass panes that framed their office and he had to resist looking back. No, he couldn’t talk to anyone in this state. He was too upset.

The moment the elevator doors reopened, Kyle stepped out into the lobby, peering around for Eric, who he now noticed, was sitting in a chair, bouncing his feet back and forth. His eyes widened, when they locked with Kyle’s, and he rose from his seat. “Kyle, what the _hell,_ I was—”

 _“Come on,”_ Kyle swallowed, heading towards the entrance. “We gotta go, I’m uhh...I’m running late, and I—”

 _“Seriously?_ You’re not gonna _yell_ at me for making you late, or—”

 _“Why?_ Do you _want_ that?” Kyle asked. “Why don’t you _tell_ me things?” He knew he wasn’t making sense. He and Cartman had multiple deep, dark secrets and overly intimate experiences between each other, even way in the past, but it didn’t make _sense_ for Eric to divulge into that with him. They weren’t even a real _couple..._ Kyle had no idea what was _happening._

Eric blinked in confusion. “Kyle, I just assumed you’d see me in the lobby, I didn’t think you’d—”

“Let’s just go,” he swallowed, evading Eric’s eyes. Sexual trauma he’d experienced from exposure at a young age, was bad enough, but _assault?_ No wonder his view on sex and love was so _fucked._ And worse, yet, Kyle feared he would say or do something to hurt him, and make him worse; turn Eric inside-out again.

Kyle was silent, as they pulled out, back onto the road, not knowing what to think, or say, or anything. As they grew-up, Kyle did consistently tend to be the only one to truly _get_ Cartman, and what he was all about. He got that he had issues. But suddenly, hearing about him, with knowing about all of _his_ other problems, was hard for Kyle to hear. Maybe that was the first, _really_ big indicator that they were fucked, for each other. Kyle felt an obligation, to be responsible for Eric Cartman and his actions. He had since he was a child, and he hadn’t understood it then either, but now it was more than just _that._ He felt an obligation to keep him protected, as well. So it hurt to hear.

Eric shifted anxiously in his seat. Kyle knew he was antsy, if they weren’t constantly making contact, but his mind was racing. Did Eric _still_ face sexual violence? _“Kyle?”_

_“What?”_

“Are you... _mad,_ at me?”

He quickly glanced to the side, where Eric gave him a hesitant look. Kyle’s heart softened. He didn’t know why his instinctual response, to hearing scary news about Eric, was to react with _anger_ towards him. Maybe it was projection. He was angry at himself, for _so_ many different things, and it came out towards _Eric_ instead. Kyle bit his lip, focusing back on the road. _“No,_ sorry, I just...I’m just...worried, about my speech.”

“But, Kyle, you’re _good_ at giving speeches,” Eric cocked his head. “Like, obnoxiously good.”

“It’s not _that,_ we’re...we’re running late…” he lied, but checking the clock, he realized, that _fuck him,_ they actually _were_ going to be late. “Oh, _fuck!’_

“But...you’re not mad at _me,_ right?”

Kyle sighed, with a low mutter. “I’m _always_ a little mad at you,” he replied. “But...no...not right now.”

Eric grinned, sitting back in his seat, and Kyle sighed, letting his right hand slid off the wheel, and down by the other boy’s side. Eric eyed his hand tentatively, and then Kyle rolled his eyes, reaching for Eric’s left hand, and lacing them together.

“You can still hold my _hand,_ you know.”

_“...cool.”_

Kyle thought it was so _strange,_ that even after they’d been kissing and cuddling and hand-holding for almost a month, Eric _still_ looked bewildered, any time Kyle gave him the smallest bit of affection. He was either madly in love with Kyle, or just incredibly touch-starved.

Maybe _both._

Kyle parked by the school again, clicking open his door, and climbing out the side. He saw Eric go to open his own side door, and raised a brow, in response.

“What are you _doing?”_

“I...I wanna see you do your speech.”

Kyle’s heart fastened. _Shit._ He really had it bad, _especially_ any time he got an extra glimpse, of the surprisingly sweet side of Eric Cartman,

“You _can’t,”_ Kyle mumbled. “I have to go on, _now,_ I don’t have time to find you a seat.”

“But, _Kyle,_ I wanna watch you.”

He looked around. Yeah, there was no one around. Kyle reached back into the car, quickly brushing his mouth up against Eric’s, and then pulling away. _Fuck,_ he was getting _soft,_ for him. _“Stay,_ in here,” Kyle directed. He almost felt hesitant about kissing Eric so suddenly, but the half-lidded smile plastered on his face, assured him he had _no complaints._ “There’s a blanket if you’re cold, I’ll just...I’ll come get you, _right_ after I’m done.”

“Whatever,” Eric giggled.

“Okay, great,” Kyle muttered, cheeks heating up again. “I’ll be back soon.”

He slammed his door shut, running back up and into the school. He was a few minutes late and just fucking _prayed_ that Stan and Wendy didn’t kill him. Kyle made his way back to the classroom, where they were set up, and before he could even get in the door, he was stopped by Stan.

“What the _fuck,_ Kyle, you’re supposed to be on, already!”

“Something happened, I’m _sorry!”_

“You’re fucking with the _entire schedule!”_

“You know what, Stan, _I’m_ co-captain, so I don’t think I need to be lectured by _you,”_ Kyle hissed, heading back into the classroom, to grab his speech.

“You know what, something just came up, _Kyle,”_ Stan scoffed. “I can’t hang-out this weekend.”

“God, you’re such a fucking child,” Kyle rolled his eyes, brushing past Stan, to head to the auditorium.

“Yeah, well, _you’d_ know, consider you’re best friends with _Cartman.”_

Kyle turned on his heel, narrowing his eyes, once more, at Stan, before laughing maliciously and turning on his heel. _“Whatever,_ Stan. Just let me do my fucking speech already.”

“Go do it, then!”

_“I will!”_

God, was he ever mad.

At Stan, or himself, Kyle didn’t know.

He was unsure which the right option was.

 

* * *

 

Stan and Kyle weren’t on great terms, even by the end of the week, but Kyle knew they weren’t on _terrible_ terms, either. After all, at lunch on Thursday, Stan _had_ shared his food. _And,_ they had all planned on going to the movies together that Sunday. So _maybe_ things were looking up. He suspected Stan wouldn’t stay mad for long, especially because they’d won the tournament, _anyway._ So really, he had nothing to be mad about... _right?_

Kyle was also looking for ways to breach the subject of... _sexual stuff,_ with Eric...or rather, _avoid,_ talking about anything sexual with Eric, at all. He wasn’t _supposed_ to mention it. Otherwise, he’d lose trust in his therapist. And Kyle didn’t like that she was telling somebody else about Eric’s issues, but it was part of the job and yes, she was careless, but Eric had been so... _docile,_ lately, that Kyle knew he _must_ have been happy. And he couldn’t ruin that.

So, on Saturday, Kyle went over to Eric’s and _tried_ (keyword: _tried)_ to do his homework, while Eric, just sat in bed and stared up at the ceiling…which, of course, eventually just devolved into him listening to Eric’s whining about how Kyle was “too busy” to be making-out with him, and eventually Eric made his way over to Kyle, arms wrapping around his shoulders; dotting his cheeks with little kisses.

“I’m trying to do _homework,”_ Kyle groaned, though, he did not hate the attention.

“There’s other things you should be _doing,”_ Eric purred, and Kyle stiffened. He wasn’t implying, what he _thought_ he was implying, right?

What was the _proper_ way to go about having sex, with someone who had as much trauma as Eric did, under their belt?

Wasn’t it too _soon_ to have sex? It wasn’t even February yet. They weren’t even a real, official, _couple,_ yet.

How did you fuck a _guy?_ Kyle knew, but the answer freaked him out a bit.

“Cartman, I have a _lot_ of homework to do,” he bit down on his lip.

“Ooh, come _on,_ Kyle,” Eric whined, tugging at the sides of Kyle’s ushanka. He _loved_ tugging at the sides of Kyle’s hat. It annoyed him, to no extent.

“Not right now,” Kyle muttered, feeling Eric’s lips, trail down his neck. He shivered against his touch, and the way it lingered on his skin. It had been a hot minute, since he’d received neck kisses; even _longer,_ before he’d received some actual _hickies._ Kyle could feel his body heating up. “I have to catch-up, if I wanna get into Columbia.”

Eric shied away, backing off from Kyle’s body, at the mention of university. Kyle was beginning to notice, that it was a common thing with him. He didn’t like hearing about school, and he _especially_ hated hearing about Columbia.

Kyle spun in his chair, frowning in Eric’s direction. He still shocked himself, every time he realized how much he liked soft, kissy, _flirty,_ Eric Cartman. “Why’d you stop?”

“You _told_ me to,” Eric muttered, arms crossed. He was wearing a sweater Kyle’s aunt had knit for him, that was _way_ too big for his toned build, but fit Eric really nicely. The long sleeves, drooped over his arms, and his long, chestnut bangs, hung over his face, framing his round cheeks. Kyle _hated_ when Eric got all pouty, but _boy,_ was he ever cute.

“And since when do you listen to me, _ever?_ Get back over here,” Kyle said, watching as Eric’s face broke out into a grin, and he waltzed back over to his desk.

“I listen to you _all the time,”_ Eric hummed, positioning himself over Kyle’s body.

“You’re so full of shit,” Kyle laughed, as the two came face to face. “You’ve always been out of fucking control…”

“Maybe you just need to use more _restraint,”_ Eric purred, arms wrapped around the back of Kyle’s neck. He angled his body forward, coming to rest on Kyle’s lap; pushing his chair back into the desk.

Kyle was strong, but his chair was weak, and despite Eric being shorter than him, he was _heavy,_ just sitting there, right on his lap. Kyle winced, and Eric’s face dropped, instantly.

_“Kyle?”_

“Let’s...take this to the bed, maybe,” Kyle asked, averting his eyes.

“I’m too _fat…”_ Eric frowned. “I’m too fat, to sit on your lap. I’m too fat…”

“Stop saying that,” Kyle rolled his eyes. “I like you the way you are. This is just, a really uncomfortable spot to...do _this.”_

“No, no, no, you were _right_ to always call me “fatass”,” Eric sighed, starting to pull away.

 _“Hey,_ look here,” Kyle said, pulling him back down again. “Don’t pull that shit with me, okay, we were both horrible fucking children to each other. Don’t try _guilting_ me.”

“I’m saying, I _agree!”_

“Whatever, I _don’t,”_ said Kyle, arms wrapped around Eric’s waist. “You’re not too heavy. I could pick you up.”

“Yeah, _sure,_ Kyle.”

“Isn’t that what you _wanted?”_ Kyle asked, hoisting him up, further. “You _begged_ me to carry you to bed, that one time, _months_ ago.”

“I didn’t _beg!”_

Kyle slipped his arms out from around Eric’s waist, and slid them under his thighs instead. Eric tightened his grip around Kyle’s neck, as he was hoisted up, Kyle getting back onto his feet, then scooping him up, and bringing him back down onto the bed. He was heavy, sure, but Kyle was strong, and the weight distribution helped a lot. Eric pulled Kyle back downwards on top of his body, over the bed, their lips locking, and Kyle hovering over him. He pulled away, eliciting a pout from Eric. Kyle rolled his eyes, crawling onto his bed, and coming to rest up against the headboard, against the wall. He outstretched his legs, rolling his eyes again as Eric gave him a confused look. Kyle reached back over for his hands, pulling him up closer, to where he rested, sitting up straight.

“Oh, come _on,”_ he sighed. “You’re not too _fat,_ to sit on my lap.”

Eric grinned, coming to rest on Kyle’s lap, straddling his legs around his waist, then wrapping his arms back around his neck. Kyle’s hands flew to the back of Eric’s legs, holding him in place, and their lips met again, rolling back over each other’s, in a heated exchange. Eric’s hands moved inwards, and over to Kyle’s face, where he pulled their lips apart, to instead teasingly tug at the loose strands of hair, that peeked out from under his ushanka, getting in his piercing green eyes and framing his face, in soft curls.

“What are you _doing?”_ Kyle narrowed his eyes.

Eric tugged on the side of his ushanka, pulling it off, and running a hand through Kyle’s hair. Kyle _never_ let anyone play with his hair. It was a miracle he had any small bit of control over it nowadays, considering how curly and tangled it could get. The ushanka was a life-saver. “I’m so glad you grew your hair back out.”

“Yeah, it’s probably at its longest, now,” Kyle shrugged. “Wait, since, _what?_ Like, fourth _grade?”_

“Yeah, and that time back in tenth.”

“Oh, right,” Kyle mumbled, looking off to the side. “I didn’t realize it was a big deal.”

“It was, I love your hair,” he hummed, kissing the side of Kyle’s face, moving downwards, onto his neck. His hands rested upon Kyle’s shoulders, and he sent shivers all down his body.

 _“Really?_ All you ever used to do was rip on me for being a redhead,” Kyle glared, reaching downwards for his ushanka. He pulled it back over his head, and Eric stopped kissing him, immediately.

He pulled back away, rolling his eyes at Kyle, this time. “I was kinda in a lot of denial, _Kyle._ I’m pretty fucked up, remember?”

 _“Yeah…”_ Kyle looked away.

“That’s what the therapy is for.”

Kyle swallowed, a big lump forming in his throat, again. He had been trying not to think about Eric’s sexual trauma, especially not when it felt like they were getting close to having sex. Sex, which he wasn’t even 100% certain how to _perform,_ on another guy. Things were getting too complicated. “That’s what the _therapy_ is for.”

Eric placed his hands on the sides of Kyle’s face, directing the attention back to himself. “Kyle, you’re being _weird.”_

He hesitated, trying to avoid eye contact, if he could. “Uhhh...so...you _want_ this, right?”

Eric narrowed his eyes. “Want, _what?”_

“I mean, like,” Kyle bit his lip. “You _want..._ to be here, you _want_ to be making-out, you _want—”_

Eric’s brows furrowed together, arms still wrapped around Kyle’s neck, but facial expression a mixture between confusion and disappointment. “What are you _saying?_ That you don’t _want_ to do this, or you think that I’m _faking,_ or—”

“No, no, none of that!” Kyle’s eyes widened. “I’m just...I’m just trying to make sure, you’re... _happy…”_

“I’m never happier than I am, when I’m with you.”

Kyle’s cheeks were ignited. “Come _on,_ don’t say shit like that…”

“What, Kyle?” he asked, eyes locked into each other’s. “That I’m not _happy_ without you? That you _make_ me happy? That before you, my life was just a lightless _abyss,_ of noth—”

“Okay, _okay,”_ Kyle sighed, leaning back, which only made Eric wiggle further up onto his lap. He could feel their crotches brushing up against each other, and Kyle’s stomach did a flop. “I’m not _that_ great.”

“Yes, you are,” he cocked his head. “Why do you think I’ve had a crush on you, for like, my entire life?”

“I mean... _sometimes,_ I’m great, I guess…” Kyle shrugged. “Your _entire_ life, hey?”

 _“Mmm hmm…”_ Eric sighed, twiddling his fingers around, still clinging onto Kyle, arms laced around his neck. “Kyle, don’t _ever_ doubt that I want you.”

Kyle pulled Eric back in, lips locking in a more aggressive, messy, sort of kiss, his own arms flying around Eric’s neck, so they could be just _that_ much closer. This, was a kiss full of neediness, and desperation, and with Eric’s crotch riding up against his, Kyle felt himself getting unusually heated. It had been almost _half a year,_ since he’d hooked-up with that girl in New York City, and that had been an uncomfortable and weird experience for him. Making out with someone he was falling for, felt so much more _real,_ and he wondered how far things would progress this time around.

_He tends to associate sex, with acts of violence._

Kyle pulled away, averting his eyes, to Eric’s dismay. Eric had been sexually traumatized, since _childhood._ He _couldn’t_ let things get too far.

_“Kyle?”_

He _hated_ staring into those big blue eyes. It made him feel ten times worse, about the information he already knew, and couldn’t even talk to Eric about.

“I have to go.”

 _“What?”_ Eric whined. “What did I do wrong?”

“No, I mean, it’s late,” Kyle lied. “I promised my mom I’d help with dinner.”

“Tell her you’re _busy,”_ said Eric, moving back in, to kiss Kyle on the cheek, dragging his lips along the bridge of his nose. Ugh, he was so _tempted_ to stay…

But if he _did,_ he was afraid things would progress too far, and he was afraid of contributing to anything that would _hurt_ Eric any further, so he gently pushed him away. _“Cartman,_ I’m serious, you have to stop.”

“Alright, _alright!”_ Eric said, untangling his legs, from Kyle’s lap. “I’m _sorry!”_

“Don’t apologize...it was _nice…”_ Kyle hesitated.

“Then why are you _leaving?”_

“Because I have to help with dinner!” Kyle insisted, sliding off of Eric’s bed, and making his way around to the other side, to collect his bag, and the homework off of Eric’s desk. He hadn’t meant to come off as mean, but he had a feeling that was how Eric was going to interpret his behaviour.

“I know, I know, I just...wish you _wouldn’t_ leave…”

Kyle suddenly realized, that Eric probably _didn’t_ have much to eat for dinner. Now, he felt like an even bigger piece of shit. He slung his bag over his shoulder, hesitant to ask, but feeling an obligation. “Do you...wanna come over...for dinner…?”

Eric’s eyes lit up, but he looked back down again, resting against his bed. “That’s probably a bad idea.”

Kyle nodded, mouth tightly shut. “Yeah, never mind.”

“Don’t worry,” Eric muttered. “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t say anything about worrying.”

“Yeah, but I know you worry.”

Kyle sat on the edge of the bed, lacing his fingers with Eric’s again. “I just...I’m gonna take you out for dinner, soon. Like...a _real_ date.”

 _“Really?!”_ Eric beamed, eyes staring up into Kyle’s.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” said Kyle, rubbing the back of his neck, with his free hand. “Like uhhh...you, know. You deserve to eat better than fucking ramen noodles, seven days a week.”

“Can we go out for Valentine’s Day?”

 _“Valentine’s Day?”_ Kyle asked. He supposed that _was_ coming up pretty soon, wasn’t it? “Oh, yeah, sure, uhhh, we can go out for Valentine’s Day...we’ll just have to be more...cautious, though, I guess…”

“Oh, _Kyle!”_ Eric grinned, pulling him in, arms wrapped around his neck again, as he showered Kyle in kisses. He winced at how sudden all the affection was, but Kyle also wasn’t about to _complain_ about it. “Our first _Valentine’s Day_ together! How _romantic!”_

 _First_ Valentine’s Day. Like, he expected more to come. Kyle had no _idea,_ how to feel about _that._ “Calm down, calm down…” he said, though blushing profusely. “I really _do_ have to go, now.”

“Let me kiss you goodbye.”

“You’ve already kissed me a thousand times.”

“Let me kiss you, a thousand _more_ times.”

_“Tomorrow…”_

“At the _movies?_ With Stan and Kenny?” Eric asked, a mischievous smile, playing around on his face. “Rub it all in their faces?”

 _“No,”_ Kyle insisted, firmly. “No making-out at the movies. Stan would have a heart attack.”

“Oh well.”

“I seriously do, have to go though, Cartman.”

“Okay,” he said. Kyle stood up from his position on the bed, preparing to leave, and Eric’s eyes remained glued to him. “Kiss _me_ goodbye, then.”

“I was already _going_ to,” said Kyle. He leaned downwards, clutching Eric’s face in his hands, and kissing him, softly, on the lips. Eric hummed against his touch, softly moaning, as things heated up and got a little more intense than Kyle had intended on; he had to pull himself away again. If things got any further, they would lead into levels of intimacy that Kyle wasn’t ready to explore with Eric, just yet.

Especially, knowing what he knew _now._

“I miss you already,” Eric teased.

“Don’t be like that,” Kyle warned. “You’re such a... _flirt.”_

“Pick me up tomorrow, at 6?”

“You know the drill,” Kyle nodded, standing in the doorframe. They were so _lucky,_ that Liane and her nasty boyfriend were in Fairplay for the day. “See you tomorrow.”

Eric giggled. _“Byeee...”_

One thing was clear to Kyle, as he made the short way home that night: if he’d thought being entangled in some kind of romance with Eric Cartman was complicated already, he’d miscalculated, by like, _a lot._ Sexual trauma was deeply ingrained into Eric, and he feared that he’d never recover from it.

The one thing that _wasn’t_ clear to Kyle, however, was that if he thought Eric’s troubling past was going to be at the very top of the list, regarding the struggles they’d have to overcome for this relationship to work...he had an entire _storm,_ coming.

If only they could weather it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter is late bc ariana grande's new album came out, and i've had a platonic crush on her for like 7 years, so i've been binge-listening ever since the 17th...so, uh...take it up with her, i guess...
> 
> also, this chapter is pretty long, which i hope makes up for it being late. oh, and it has SMUT. so if you don't like smut, i'd skip that part.
> 
> recap: kyle found-out about eric's...not-so-healthy, sexual history, etc. and, yeah, that's where we left-off.
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

From a young age, Eric Cartman was conditioned to hatred.

The most shocking part of it all, was that most of it was _Kyle Broflovski’ fault._

He recalled back in the third grade, how often he’d tried to make a real fucking effort with the other boys, he called his friends. Stan and Kenny weren’t that bad, but Kyle was a _wreck._ He didn’t understand at the time just what exactly he’d done to piss Kyle off so badly, but by the fourth grade, their dynamic had started forming into a serious rivalry. They were children, but they were enemies. He loved eating up all of Kyle’s attention; he’d do anything get rile him up, watch his face turn red and fists ball up. God, he should have known he had a big problem, that one time back in the sixth grade, when Kyle had pushed him back up against a locker, and all he could think was, _“What if I_ kissed _him?”_

Now, this wasn’t to say, that Eric Cartman hadn’t done several terrible, horrible things to Kyle. Nah, eventually they’d caught up. They were nasty to each other, through and through. And yet, the first person to give Eric any real, positive and sweet, reassurance and true sincere sympathy and support, was _also_ Kyle. He remembered the first time they held each other, back in the fourth grade, and then he remembered when Mr. Kitty had passed away in eighth grade and Kyle had hugged him then too. He smelled so good, that day. It was around Christmas time, but Kyle smelled like cinnamon; it was from those fancy Ashkenazi cookies, that his mother cooked for Hanukkah season. Eric had tried them a few times, and they were amazing. That was around the time he’d started feeling really uncomfortable for ripping on Kyle’s Jewishness in the past. Therapy and medication really helped clarify a whole lot of things, for him, and that included his _real_ feelings for Kyle...

And oh god, that _hug..._

It was amazing, really, how Kyle could change so _quickly,_ the moment that Eric exhibited sincerity. Exhibited real feelings. It actually wasn’t a huge secret, or a big shocker, that Eric was broken-hearted when his cat passed away. He fucking loved kitties. Kyle would never tell, but he secretly found it pretty endearing, too.

The day after he died, Eric had a funeral for him, because, he was Eric fucking Cartman. Stan was extremely sympathetic, being the animal lover of the group. Kenny patted Eric on the shoulder and spent his tiny allowance on a gift. But, _Kyle…_

It was after the funeral. The other three stayed over to try cheering him up. They all agreed that they “hated” Cartman, but they were all friends, nonetheless...and Eric _had_ gotten more tolerable, over the years. So it wasn’t out of the ordinary. Shit, they’d even dressed-up for the occasion, although Kyle still refused to remove his stupid fucking ushanka. But it was the thought that counted, after all.

_“Well, we should get going,”_ Stan sighed, then rising from the couch. They were watching some lame sitcom, just for background noise. _“There’s a math test tomorrow.”_

_“As if you were gonna study anyway,”_ Kenny snorted, and Stan elbowed him, as they made their way over to the door. _“C’mon, Kyle. We’re leaving.”_

Kyle gave Eric a side glance, then hesitantly, rose from his spot too. _“Okay…”_ Eric stood-up with him, making his way to the door, to say ‘goodbye’.

_“Uh…”_ he sniffled, still a bit tearfully, speaking to the other boys. _“Thanks, for...coming.”_

He was still a bit iffy, being openly vulnerable and sentimental, with his friends...after all, he wasn’t entirely used to receiving any positive affection in return.

_“Feel better, dude,”_ Stan nodded, and Kenny gave him another pat, on the back. Kyle stayed silent, before turning to the others.

_“Hey,”_ he muttered. _“I forgot something inside, just go without me.”_

_“You sure?”_

_“Yeah, it’s fine. Just go.”_

Stan shrugged, and he and Kenny made their way through the yard, down the street. When they were out of earshot, Kyle turned back to Eric and stepped back into his house.

Eric narrowed his eyes, as Kyle shut the door behind them. _“What the fuck,_ Kyle, _you can’t just—”_

And he was pulled into a warm embrace. It shocked him again, feeling _that_ close to Kyle, oh god, by then, he was _so_ aware of his crush. Oh god, oh god, what was he even supposed to _do,_ when Kyle did shit like that? It made his insides turn into fucking jelly, and his legs tremble. He smelled so sweet and he was dressed so well that day, and oh, _fuck him,_ was he wearing _cologne?_ To Eric’s cat’s _funeral?_ It might as well have been a _proposal;_ Eric wanted him so badly. And he wasn’t even the “new and improved” soft-boy, Eric Cartman, at that point. He had been on the football team. He still loved pissing Kyle off. He made idiotic jokes, even if he was starting to regret his nasty antisemitic phase. But god, Kyle could change all that in the blink of an eye...

_“I’m sorry,”_ he muttered, into Eric’s ear. _“About Mr. Kitty, I mean. I know how much you loved him. Or her. I could never remember.”_

Eric felt his arms wrap around Kyle’s body, and he rested his head against his shoulder, letting out a shaky breath, followed by tears.

_I love you._

There was nothing to say. He couldn’t open his mouth when he was this vulnerable. It was too dangerous. He’d say something he’d regret, and Kyle would be horrified and pull away. But he squeezed on harder, and let Kyle softly rock his body back and forth, and stroke his back, and then his hair, too.

They held on, for god knows how long. Eric wished it had been forever. If Kyle never let go of him, they’d never be apart. He’d do anything to stay wrapped around Kyle’s arms, for eternity. He was so fucking _useless_ for him.

When Kyle finally pulled away, he said something that made Eric’s stomach flop. Something that stuck with him for years after, and became that much more relevant to him and Kyle’s current... _situation._

_“Cartman...it’s okay to be_ vulnerable, _sometimes.”_

Oh, so _that_ was the key to making Kyle fall for him. If only he’d taken action sooner. Shit, Eric was picturing them dating _all_ throughout high school. Being Kyle Broflovski’s boyfriend had to be _so_ sweet...better late than never, he supposed...

It was bullshit like that, that almost made it surprising, it had taken _this_ long, for Kyle and Eric to finally get together. _Were_ they together? Eric was uncertain but too scared to ask.

Anyway.

Valentine’s Day was approaching, and Eric’s heart bubbled over with feelings, knowing Kyle was going to take him on an _actual date,_ that night. Fuck, finally his ancient journals, with scribbled down fantasies and dreams about Kyle were coming true. He felt like he should pinch himself, but he didn’t want to wake-up. Even if it _was_ a dream. He’d protect himself at all costs. He’d protect him and _Kyle,_ at all costs.

He was sitting up in his bedroom, one night, early February, scribbling in his journal. One of those late nights, where he couldn’t sleep, with Kyle on his mind. He’d come over earlier and they played the XBOX that Kyle brought over and hooked-up to the shitty TV and then they made-out on the couch and it got so heated, that Eric wondered if they were _ever_ going to have sex. He’d let Kyle fuck him. Scratch that, he _wanted_ Kyle to fuck him. He thought about Kyle sexually, _all of the time,_ god, he was _hot,_ he wouldn’t even know what to _do._ Of course, there _were_ some complications.

Like, for example, Eric had never had sex before. He’d had made-out sessions, once he’d awkwardly fingered a girl he had a brief thing with, and, oh yeah, he _had_ given... _oral sex_ a few times, but over the past few years, he’d become enthralled with Kyle to the extent where he was essentially uninterested in sex, unless it was with Kyle. Maybe he was _Kylesexual._ No, that was dumb. And it was never going to happen, anyway.

But...now there _was,_ a chance, it _could_ happen. And that lead into the _second_ complication.

Eric was still struggling with sexual stuff. It really, _really,_ confused and conflicted him, especially as a child. He’d been overly exposed from a young age, and he just didn’t understand a lot of his own feelings too. He used to view it as an act of _violence._ He knew love and sex were connected somehow, but that confused him. Part of it was overexposure, part of it was how he felt for Kyle. How could he hate someone, but simultaneously want them to shove him up against a wall and take him, and also _love_ that person? It was all so complicated…

But...he was open to it.

The door to his room was slammed open, pulling him out of his state of daydreaming.

He turned around, hurriedly, slamming his journal shut. Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ if he got caught writing in a _diary…_

But it was only Liane.

_“Sweetie…”_ she said, rushing past the bed, up to where Eric sat up, at his desk. “I can’t find my favourite lipstick, did you borrow it again?”

_“No,”_ he glared. “I don’t do that anymore... _mostly…”_

“I need to get going, Eric, have you seen it?”

“No, Ma, I told you, I—”

“I’m in a _rush,_ poopsiekins, _please.”_

“I don’t have it, Jesus Christ!” he huffed, rolling his eyes. As if he’d still be borrowing her lipsticks, now that he knew what she was using them for. Who _knew,_ where those lips had been? Sadly, Eric already knew the answer.

She sighed. “Oh, alright. It’s fine...we’ll be back home, tomorrow morning.”

_“What?!”_ Eric glared. “You’re leaving, _again?!”_

“Eric, you might wanna hide that from Billy...I don’t think he’d approve.”

Eric looked to the side, over at his journal. Truth be told, the only journal that had gone “missing”, was the one his future stepfather had torn from his hands, when he’d caught him re-reading a few entries, at breakfast. He declared it “faggy” and tossed it, but Kyle giving him a new one as a gift seemed like fate. He wouldn’t stop on anyone else’s account. The rest of his old diaries were kept securely in a box, hidden deeply in his closet, never to be found.

“Fuck that guy,” Eric muttered, and he immediately felt Liane’s hand against the back of his head. It wasn’t particularly hard, but her engagement ring made contact and it felt like an extra offense. _“Ow!”_

“Eric, _behave,”_ Liane scowled. “I love that man. He’s supporting our family, and he’s going to be your stepfather, so you’d better learn to respect him. _Please,_ for _me.”_

He shook his head. “Whatever.”

“I brought you dinner.”

He perked up, almost immediately. _“...really?”_

“KFC,” she nodded. “It’s downstairs. Wait for Bill and me to leave first, though.”

Kyle _and_ fast-food, all in one _day?_ Now, he _had_ to be dreaming. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Of course, Eric,” she kissed him ‘goodbye’, heading back over to his door. “Have a good night. _Love you.”_

“Love you, _too.”_

 

* * *

 

“So... _Valentine’s Day.”_

Kyle was the first to look up from his lunch, panic spread across his face before he noticed that Kenny’s question wasn’t directed at him, but rather, their entire table. Yet, he couldn’t help but hear the phrase “Valentine’s Day” and remember that he had promised Eric Cartman, they’d go out for Valentine’s Day.

_Does that mean we’re...together?,_ was a question that had been swarming around in his head, the weeks since he’d promised. Especially, because _he’d_ initiated it. Maybe he didn’t even mean it; not to that extent, at least. Maybe he’d only said it, because he felt bad about overhearing that stuff at the therapist’s office, shit, what was he _doing?_ It was amazing because it’d been over a month, since they’d been hanging out and kissing and spending late nights, cooped up in either’s rooms, laying together and talking about _whatever._ There was much less bickering, but Kyle figured it’d pick up, once they were out of the honeymoon phase. God, did that mean he expected a real _future_ with Cartman? He was freaking out.

Yup, this was all a mistake. Between the nervousness and Eric’s sexual trauma, this was a _bad_ idea. He couldn’t even tell his own _friends,_ about this. That had to be a bad sign, right? It had to be a bad sign, that he and Eric had to pretend like they weren’t totally falling for each other, any time they hung out with their other friends. It was an unspoken agreement, but then: no one else can know.

“Wendy and I are double-dating with her _parents,_ for Valentine’s Day,” Stan sighed, resting his face in the palms of his hands. “Fucking god.”

_“Foursome?”_

“They’re her fucking _parents,_ dude, that’s disgusting!” Stan snapped at Kenny, who rolled his eyes, with a snicker.

Yup, it was a bad sign. He and Eric were bad. All wrong. Oh, god, what was _happening,_ to him? He couldn’t think straight. This was bad. Bad, bad, b—

And then Eric arrived.

And sat next to Kyle.

And gave him _that look._ A look of pure tenderness, that he kept hidden, to the rest of the world, but reserved for Kyle. And Kyle, _only._

God, he wanted to push him down against their pathetic, plastic lunch table, and take him right there. He’d fucking deserve it, for giving Kyle _that_ look, in public, as if he were now supposed to just refrain from cupping his hands around his face, and slam his lips into his; god fucking _damn it,_ he made everything so _hard._ He always made _everything,_ so hard.

“Kyle?”

Kyle turned his head, facing Kenny’s direction. _“What?”_

“What are you and _Cartman,_ doing for Valentine’s Day?”

_“Excuse me?”_ Kyle blinked, throat suddenly feeling very dry.

“You. And Cartman. You guys got dates or something?” he asked, raising a brow as if he were clueless to his own implications or something, but Kyle knew _very_ well, what Kenny was _really_ asking.

“Uh, no,” Kyle muttered, stabbing at his food with a knife. “You already know I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“What about Cartman?”

_“What?!”_

“What about, _Cartman?”_ Kenny narrowed his eyes. “Cartman, do _you_ have Valentine’s Day plans?”

“Nope,” Eric shrugged. Kyle sighed, in relief. He was always afraid Eric was going to blow their cover.

“Aw, poor Kyle and Cartman,” Kenny snickered, downing his can of Coke. “All alone as Valentine’s Day, as usual.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kyle rolled his eyes, with a scoff. He was getting sick of all Kenny’s teasing, and implications.

But then Eric laced his fingers with Kyle’s, under the table.

Then everything felt all soft again.

 

* * *

 

Valentine’s Day was weird.

You either had someone in your life that meant something to you, and you spent the day together and threw away your money on stupid gifts, or you were lonely and having everyone else’s romances rubbed in your face, or you were eying someone and taking a shot. Or not. Maybe you lacked confidence. Maybe you were just daydreaming.

Usually, the latter was what Eric Cartman’s Valentine’s Day consisted of. Sometimes, Kyle would have a girlfriend or a date and they’d go out and it was okay. Sometimes, he double-dated with Stan. He hadn’t been asked this year.

Once, Cartman had gotten brave and sent Kyle a candygram, but Kyle got lots of flower and candygrams for Valentine’s Day. Half of that was because he was on student council and it was tradition to send each other candygrams, it being their own cause — and half, because Kyle was a basketball player with a cute ass, and that made him totally dreamy or something. The candygram from Eric was anonymous. It had been back in tenth grade when Kyle was in the middle of his brief thing with Bebe.

Kyle actually remembered that candygram, because it was oddly poetic. Of course, he’d had no idea the sender was _Eric Cartman,_ but he was a bit shocked to find out he had a secret admirer, nonetheless. It was something really simple. He couldn’t remember what it said exactly, but it was about his eyes. And how they had hazel flecks in the centre. Someone who had been really close to him had sent that. It wasn't from Bebe. Maybe an ex. 

Nope.

This Valentine’s Day was going to be very different, for both of them.

The week before, Kyle went to the mall. He felt awkward doing this, because _what the fuck?_ What the _fuck,_ was he doing, buying a Valentine’s Day gift for _Eric Cartman?_ He could _wheeze._ It was actually downright, _hilarious._ He stopped by Godiva first, because you were _supposed_ to get your Valentine chocolates. And flowers. But he knew fucking Cartman wasn’t going to put flowers in a vase. Did Liane even _own_ a vase? No way.

But the moment he walked into Godiva and stared at all the heart-shaped boxes of overpriced chocolate, he was overwhelmed. Fuck that. He stormed out, without looking back. Despite how weirded out he was with himself, for going _Valentine’s Day_ shopping for _Eric Cartman,_ he missed him. He _liked_ going on “mall dates” with Eric.

If Kyle were, to be honest with himself, it wasn’t that he was having _second thoughts,_ about Eric. Maybe he was...falling hard...falling in something, like…what letter did it begin with, again? _“L”?_ Maybe…

But he couldn’t stop fixating on the sexual stuff. And Eric’s home life. Every time he came over, it seemed worse. It was getting worse, and yet Eric said nothing to him. Didn’t he _trust_ him? Didn’t he _lov—_

So, yeah. Maybe second thoughts _did_ swarm around in his head, from time to time. But he still wanted to kiss Eric and hold hands and go for late night walks around town and Eric didn’t even smoke now, which was a relief, because he looked so stupid with a cigarette between his lips. Not when the only thing between his lips, should have been Kyle’s tongue, _anyway…_

Kyle knew Eric liked three things: cats, photography and video games. Oh, and food. And making-out. God, everything lead back to _them,_ didn’t it? Speaking of them; another thing Cartman liked, was that dumb old sweater of Kyle’s. The one that was too big for him, or rather too _wide_ for him. It fit chubby Eric, _perfectly,_ but Kyle knew Eric wanted more of his clothing. That made his heart flopped. How could someone be _so_ into him, that they wanted the feeling of their touch, and smell and love, all over their skin, 24/7?

He stopped at a few stores. The second one, just because he knew Eric secretly ate up that cheesy romantic bullshit. Buying someone a stuffed animal for Valentine’s Day was so gushy and dramatic and a truly Stan-Marsh-thing to do, but Cartman would _love_ it.

“Good choice,” commented the girl at the counter. She had light brown hair, that swept around her shoulders, and what looked like her zodiac sign, tattooed behind her ear. Kyle was unsure. He didn’t know much about anything like that. It seemed more like an ‘Eric’ thing. “I bought that one for my girlfriend, too.”

A smile twitched at Kyle’s lips on the word “girlfriend”. He and that girl had something in common, oh boy, but it wasn’t in the way _she_ thought they did. Even if Eric wasn’t his _boyfriend._ No. Not the case. Or maybe. _Fuck._

“...thanks,” Kyle grinned, as she stuffed it into a paper bag. Three gifts. Three gifts seemed excessive, but Eric didn’t really have much at home, anymore. He didn’t really receive anything for Christmas. Maybe this was okay.

How he and Cartman had gone from nearly murdering each other, to gushy, sappy Valentine’s Day bullshit...he needed a _timeline._ Dear god. There was one last gift he wanted to get for Eric, and then that was _it._ Enough fucking _sap._

What was the world coming to, and more importantly, why did he _like_ it?

 

* * *

 

So, on Valentine’s Day, Kyle told his parents he was “hanging out with friends”. And Sheila totally questioned him.

“Kyle, when are you going to tell us about this mysterious _girlfriend,_ of yours?” she asked, before Kyle headed-out that night. She was scrubbing aggressively at a caked tray, covered in soapy dishwater. Later that evening, she and Gerald had Valentine’s Day plans too, but that wasn’t for a while, yet.

Kyle scoffed. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come _on,_ Kyle,” she laughed. “It’s been pretty obvious you’re dating someone, since at _least_ December.”

“I don’t know what you’re _talking_ about,” he muttered, sliding his fingers into the pockets of his jeans. He was wearing a pair of dark-washes, along with a turtleneck. A dark, turtleneck. His mother said dark colours brought out the redness of his hair, which he kind of fucking hated, but Eric liked it a lot and it was Valentine’s Day and he had to stay warm regardless; hence the turtleneck, and ushanka he already wore to a default. He’d put on cologne, too, which he always did, but it felt so _serious_ now.

“You’re telling me, you’re going out with _friends,_ looking like that? On _Valentine’s Day?”_

“Yeah, _so?”_ he glared. “So, _what?”_

“I know when my bubbe’s in _love,_ Kyle,” she gushed, wiping her hands on a towel, with a sigh. “We just wanna _meet_ her, Kyle. What, has she got four heads or something? Is she some kinda _monster?”_

_Was_ Eric a monster? Yeah. In the past. But the past, was the past. _“No…”_

“So, she _is_ real?” Sheila exclaimed. “Oh, Kyle, you know I don’t care if she’s Jewish or not, right?”

_“No, no, no,”_ he hesitated. “I mean...there _is_ no she. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Sheila narrowed her eyes. “Then a _date?”_

“Something like that,” Kyle muttered, feeling himself slip into a natural lie. “I mean, uh...you know...me and the guys are going to some kinda...party...thing...you know...I wanna look...good…” He never lied to his mom. That felt wrong.

“A _crush?!”_ she gasped.

“Mom, _please,”_ he groaned, as Sheila reached up and pinched at his cheeks.

“Oh, come on, Kyle, you’re gonna be moving across the _country,_ this year!” she sighed. “Let me into your _life!”_

“I have to go,” Kyle grinned, sheepishly, pulling her in for a hug. God, he felt bad about lying to her, but what was the alternative? “I’ll be home later.”

“Drive _safe,_ Kyle!” she said, pecking him quickly on the cheek. “Text me or Dad before you come home.”

“I will,” Kyle nodded, heading off into the living room, for his coat. “Bye, Mom.”

_“Goodnight, Kyle!”_

God, was he relieved he’d already put Eric’s gifts into his car. Now there was only one thing missing, from his Valentine’s Day plans. Or, rather, one _person..._

_Sigh._

Kyle parked out in front of his house, making his way to the front. Was it weird that he was _nervous?_ Probably. He was _so_ relieved, that Eric appeared to be home alone again. The moment he answered the door, Kyle’s hands flew to Eric’s jaw, and their lips were pressed together; the two stumbling back into his house, and falling back onto the couch. Eric outstretched his arms, wrapping them around Kyle’s neck and falling in deeper. That was the type of kiss, that left you fucking breathless, and not wanting to let go; stars danced before your eyes and hearts danced in around the air surrounding the two; butterflies ached to flutter out of their stomachs.

When they finally pulled apart, Eric gazed lazily up into Kyle’s eyes, a grin dancing across his face. He didn’t say anything else, he just pulled on the flaps of Kyle’s stupid, fucking hat, and pulled him back in again. Did this ever get _old?_ Probably, never.

_“C’mon,”_ Kyle murmured into their kiss. “We’re going to the next town over, for dinner.”

“Oh, wait, then,” Eric’s eyes flickered wide open. “I wanna get dressed up.”

_“Please,_ don’t get dressed up,” Kyle cringed. “You’re making such a big deal out of this.”

“‘Cause it is a big deal, _Kyle!”_ he glared. _“You’re_ all dressed up.”

“Not _really…”_

“Yes, you are,” Eric muttered, lips flying to Kyle’s neck. He teased at the skin, sucking and kissing, before pulling away again. “It’s that cologne, again…”

_“Alright, alright,”_ Kyle blushed. “Go get fucking dressed.”

Kyle hated sitting on the couch, of that shithole alone. He swore, every time he spent time in that house on his own, he sensed something was very... _wrong._ But Cartman running back down the stairs in a sweater, those soft, chunky bangs, bouncing over his forehead, took Kyle’s mind off of that yucky feeling. He was cute. Maybe even hot; he was cute when he smiled sincerely, and _hot_ whenever a shit-eating grin spread across his cheeks. How did he do it?

Kyle wished he knew.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was difficult.

They were at a little cafe-type place, in North Park, that was fairly empty, but had a great menu, and candlelit dinner. And neither were even particularly _hungry._ Kyle wondered if Eric thought it was lame, that they were sitting in some dark, Italian cafe. It wasn’t because he was trying to set a mood. He just wanted them to have some real fucking privacy. To not have to worry about being spotted by anyone else.

Neither ate much nor did either _say_ much. But when Cartman, so _obviously,_ dangled his hand on top of the tablecloth, Kyle laced their fingers together. There was something magical about holding hands with someone you really cared about.

The two were finishing up and waiting for the bill, when Eric turned his head, staring out into the night. He turned back around to Kyle, taking a deep breath. “Remember when I gave you my kidney?”

Kyle scoffed, narrowing his eyes. He was almost tempted to let go of his hand, for bringing up such a weird memory. “You mean, Stan and the others had to fucking _steal_ your kidney, for me?”

“You were an _asshole_ to me, all of third grade!” Cartman snapped.

“What about fourth grade, _Cartman,_ you were the _worst!”_

“So were you, I just wanted to be _friends_ with you in third grade, Jesus Christ!”

“Good job,” Kyle grumbled, pulling his hand away. “Now we’re fucking arguing in public.”

“Whatever.”

“What was even the point of _mentioning,_ that?”

His cheeks were red, and he rested his cheek in the palm of his hand. “I just wanted to _say..._ I’m glad I did it.”

“You didn’t have a choice.”

“I’m glad it happened!”

“You’re glad I almost _died?”_

_“Kyle…”_ he said, looking away. “I’m trying to be _romantic…”_

Maybe Eric’s sexual trauma wasn’t going to be their only roadblock. There was also the matter of their _past,_ as a whole. It was getting weird. It was getting complicated.

“Kind of a weird way to be romantic,” Kyle muttered.

“I’d do it again.”

There was a pause in the conversation, as Kyle held his tongue. Fuck. Maybe he’d been too harsh. Maybe, he’d been too cold—

“Maybe...you were _right,_ to not wanna help me,” Kyle bit his lip. He’d been a _rough_ child, in third grade.

_“Kyle…”_

He hesitated, nearly stopping himself from saying the words forming on his tongue. But they slipped away.

“Do you ever feel like...we shouldn’t...we _shouldn’t_ be…”

Kyle regretted it, the moment the words escaped his mouth. Eric’s whole face fell, and he stared down at the tablecloth, clutching on with his fingers. _Shit._ Kyle hated to admit how difficult this was for him. The sexual stuff, Valentine’s Day, and now Kyle was getting all fixated on the _childhood_ bullshit.

They were so bad. It was all wrong.

But the way his heart pounded when he saw Eric, and the way he felt heat flush over his entire body when they kissed and he wanted to be with him so _badly_  when they parted. And that was real. That was real as _fuck._

“I get it,” Eric said, looking downwards. “Whatever, Kyle, I fucki—”

“—I didn’t mean that,” Kyle insisted, grabbing his hands again. “I didn’t mean it, Cartman, I swear to _god,_ I didn’t, I’m just…”

“Having second thoughts.”

It wasn’t phrased like a question. It was phrased like he already knew the answer.

But he didn’t.

“C’mon, look,” said Kyle. “I did all of this, for you. I just...just come with me.”

Cartman’s brows furrowed together, and he went to speak, but Kyle dropped a few bills onto the table, and pulled him outside, by the arm. He gestured towards their spot, to a confused waitress, then pushing the door open, and leading Eric to his car.

“Kyle, I don’t—”

He unlocked his car, reading into the back seat, for the Valentine’s Day gifts he’d bought for Eric. And yes, Kyle _cringed_ at himself, knowing it was too much; this was too much, he’d done _too much,_ but maybe it would make Eric happy. He kept putting his fucking foot in his mouth.

Eric gasped. “What did you _do?”_

“You didn’t get anything for Christmas, so, I guess, I...I didn’t know what do get you, so I went a little overboard.”

“You got me _presents?”_

“Yup.”

“For _Valentine’s Day?”_

“Oh, god.”

“I love... _this,”_ he coughed, sliding into the backseat. Kyle slid in next to him, closing the door behind them, as Eric rifled around through wrapping paper, tossing it beneath him onto the bed of the car. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

“Yeah, _well…”_ He couldn’t either.

“How’d you know I needed more film?”

“I know you have that ugly polaroid camera,” Kyle explained, with a shrug. He’d thought only teenage Instagrammers still used those chunky Polaroid cameras, but apparently not. “Which is totally impractical, but I know _you_ like it…”

“This looks just like Mr. Kitty!” he exclaimed, in awe, digging back into the bag. It was just a _stuffed animal._ Was it _that_ worth getting worked-up, over?

“Yeah...I know how much you loved that cat, and you know, real cats cost too much money to maintain…”

It was the last gift, that Kyle thought was a bit conceited of him to give to Eric, because of what value was attached to it, but he knew it would matter a lot to him. He reached the bottom of the bag, pulling out a large, green pullover hoodie, super baggy and purposely overly worn; unwashed.

“Haven’t I seen you…”

_“Yeah,”_ Kyle bit his lip. “That’s what I was trying to tell you, I’m...I wasn’t trying to hurt you, back in there. I was just thinking out loud and saying things I didn’t mean, I mean…”

“But this is…”

“I bought it a week ago, I should’ve done it sooner, but...I only just got the idea. You’re always wearing that ugly sweater my aunt knitted and I kinda figured, you wanted, like...one of my hoodies to wear...because of my scarf, and stuff, like...maybe it was a stupid idea…”

_“That’s_ why you wore this thing around all week?” Eric blinked. “To give to _me?”_

“You were also feeling bad about being...too big to sit on me,” Kyle inched closer. “And the only thing that fit was that ugly sweater, so—”

“You went out and wore a size XXL hoodie all week, just so I could wear it?”

_“Yeah,”_ Kyle shrugged, feeling his cheeks turn hot. Maybe this was too sentimental. Maybe he sounded like a fucking tool, for thinking Eric wanted anything simply just because it was “his” and smelled like him and it was special in any way. “You know...you can have something of your own that’s, like...mine, I guess. Or, if you don’t _like_ it, I can—”

Eric could’ve practically jumped his freaking bones, pushing _Kyle_ back down for once, and slamming his lips against his. When Kyle returned from the shock, he was only met with more and more little kisses, scattered across his freckled cheeks. He scoffed, though not pushing Eric away. He was still just surprised by the amount of affection that was rained down on him.

“...you like it?”

“I _love_ it,” Eric breathed, their eyes locked, indefinitely. “Kyle, I fucking _lov—”_

It was an appropriate place to end the sentence. Kyle wrapped his arm around Eric’s neck, pulling him back down for another kiss. Their legs became entangled, and Eric threw his own arms around Kyle; the two rolling around in the _fucking_ backseat of Kyle’s car, in the _fucking_ parking lot of some random cafe in North Park. The funniest part, being that they’d tried to be as platonic as they possibly could out in public, but fuck it, god, just _fuck_ it, it felt too good to make out with someone you shouldn’t want, in a place you shouldn’t be making out. If they’d been back up in Kyle’s bedroom, he knew where this would lead. He wasn’t a virgin. He’d had sex twice in his life before, and both times were with girls. He’d never even considered what sex with a guy would entail. But he knew he’d be okay with it.

It was up to Eric.

Fucking _Eric._

Kyle pushed Eric back, bumping up against the side door of his car. Eric and his fucking therapist and the trauma and the details, and all of it, what the fuck was he _thinking?_

_“Kyle,_ what the—”

“Sorry,” said Kyle, slamming a hand over his mouth. “I’m...we should go home.”

“You don’t...wanna…”

“We can’t do anything in a cafe _parking lot,”_ Kyle laughed nervously. “We have to go home.”

Cartman raised a brow. “Your place? Aren’t you parents home?”

“No, not right now,” Kyle shook his head. “Valentine’s Day dinner, in Denver. They do it every year.”

“I thought they were fighting.”

An awkward silence hung in the air. If it had been a warmer season, there’d be crickets chirping and the soft sound of a warm summer breeze, but it was dead winter, so it was just dead silent.

“Yeah,” Kyle muttered. “They are. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Kyle, are you _mad_ at me?”

He looked over, at the concerned expression spread across Eric’s and let out a sigh. They were already falling into patterns, like this. It was too soon. “No. Let’s just go home.”

“You’re acting like you’re _mad_ at me, Kyle, and I—”

“I’m not mad at you,” said Kyle. “But it’s fucking late and I wanna get out of here and—”

“You’re sur—”

_“I wanna be with you,”_ Kyle snapped. “I wanna be with you, so badly, but we can’t spend any time with each other if you keep jumping on me in a parking lot.”

Eric blinked, a grin then spreading across his cheeks. “Let’s fucking go, then.”

Driving home with _that_ much sexual tension between the two, was nearly fucking impossible.

Kyle was relieved when they showed up back at his house and his parents hadn’t arrived back home yet. It wasn’t very late, anyway. Only around 9 PM by that time, and he could feel his stomach flip-flopping again. They had the house to themselves, which meant there was no _way_ he _couldn’t_ utilize that. By the way that kiss had ended, Kyle was pretty certain where this was headed if he let it go that way.

Kyle threw the car into park, and clamoured out, while Eric fiddled around, grabbing his gifts from the back. He made his way up to the front door, fucking up fitting the key through the lock a few times. Well, shit. Shit, shit, _shit,_ this felt too on the nose, for their current situation. Eric trailed behind him, bag slung over his shoulder.

“So, what are w—”

Kyle finally unlocked the door, stumbling back into the living room of his house. The light in the kitchen was left on, as usual, but the rest of the house was dimly lit and he felt his heart pumping in his chest when Eric closed the door behind them. Kyle heard the sound of a paper bag crashing against the floor, and he was pulled around, face nearly immediately tugged towards Eric’s. What the fuck was he supposed to do, if _he_ was the one taking initiative? Was that a _good_ thing? Maybe he should have calmed down. They were kissing, not _fucking,_ what was there to worry about?

Kyle let Eric’s lips cling to his own, and he reached down to unzip and pull off his coat, tossing it onto the couch. He could already hear Sheila nagging him about it. She’d been a bit more naggy, as of late, asking for constant updates on Columbia. He figured it was because she and Gerald were fighting a lot, and—

Oh, my god, there he was, self-sabotaging as usual, and thinking about his mother’s fucking _nagging,_ in the middle of a heated make-out session. He and Eric took little breaks between kisses, so he could tug at the zipper on Eric’s coat, tossing it on the couch, beside his own. He wondered if he could _actually_ carry Cartman. Probably not. He could do it when they were a bit younger, but now he was unsure. Eric was shorter than him but heavy. Did it _matter?_ Was he _planning_ on taking it upstairs?

Eric’s fingers dug into Kyle’s shirt, and they pulled apart, to catch their breaths. Eric ran the back of his hand, along Kyle’s jawline, face flushed already. “I love it when you dress like this.”

“Yeah?” Kyle breathed, twiddling his own fingers with Eric’s free hand.

_“Yeah,”_ murmured Eric, tugging his hands away, to pull Kyle’s forward, lips flying to his neck. “You’re so fucking hot.”

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah,”_ he said, tugging down the collar on Kyle’s sweater, to suck on his heated skin. “I _never_ stop thinking about you.”

Oh, he couldn’t _not_ want him. Fuck, it was so fucking hard; in more than one way. This felt weird, for so many reasons; Kyle wasn’t even certain if he was 100% used to the idea romancing another dude, and on top of that, it was _Cartman,_ but it was never _just_ Cartman, it was Cartman and _his_ baggage and _their_ baggage and _everything_ about their situation that direly screamed, “run for the hills!”...and yet Kyle never pulled away, he stayed and he wanted to fucking stay, but was it _right?_ Was it what Eric _wanted?_ Would Kyle be doing this, if Eric Cartman was the same person he was a month ago? Two months again? Back in August, back in June, last year, or the year before? Did Cartman _want_ him? Was this right? Was it _right?_

_“You want...to be here, you want to be making-out, you want—”_

He kept thinking back to that night. Was Kyle supposed to lead him upstairs? Their lips remained locking, hands cupping Cartman’s face, and stars dancing around in his head. God, was it right, was it okay, could they do it?

_“I’m never happier than I am, when I’m with you.”_

That’s what he had promised Kyle, not long ago, back up in his bedroom. God, he hoped he was being fucking truthful. God, he hoped it was true.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Kyle breathed when they took a short break. “I mean, if you wa—”

_“—yes.”_

That was all he needed to hear. Kyle laced his fingers through Eric’s, leading him up the staircase, and into his own bedroom. The bed was neatly made, a basket of clean and folded laundry, by his desk. Sheila had taken care of it, just as she took care of everything. God, he had to stop being reminded of his mother, at a time like this. The room was otherwise dark, with only a bit of cool moonlight peeking in, through the window, and the warm light from the hallway, slicing through the darkness, from the slightly ajar door.

Eric grabbed at Kyle’s t-shirt, pulling him in for another excessively overwhelming, kiss, and Kyle wrapped his arms around his neck, pushing Eric back onto the bed. In the process, their crotches rubbed up against each other’s, and Kyle felt his own pants tightening. He was so fucked. He was so, so _fucked,_ if he was getting this aroused, already. Eric’s arms were splayed back against the covers, and Kyle tightened his grip, locked into his hands, both taking tiny breaths between kissing, to catch up.

“Kyle, _wait,”_ Eric muttered, through a stunted breathe. “Switch positions.”

Kyle’s eyebrows furrowed together. _“Why?”_

“I couldn’t afford to buy you anything, so...I wanna give you your Valentine’s Day gift,” he grinned, eyes half-lidded over.

Kyle narrowed his eyes. “You’re not... _fucking_ me, Cartman, let’s get one thing very cl—”

“Yeah, of course, _I’m_ not fucking _you,”_ Eric snorted, hands finding their way to the zipper on Kyle’s jeans. “No, this is something I already promised I’d do for you when we were _kids,_ so…”

“Ugh, don’t _word_ it like that,” Kyle groaned, but the moment he felt Eric reach down into his pants, his breath tightened. It’d been too long since a hand beside his own had been cupped around his package. “What are you... _ohhh, uh_...what are you implying?”

“Sit up, Kyle,” he purred, wiggling the jeans around his waist. _“You’ll see.”_

Kyle turned around, back pressed up against his headboard. He bit his lip, as Eric crawled over, sitting on top of his calves, then further tugging down Kyle’s jeans, and finally at his boxers. The first time with someone new was always weird; especially weird for Kyle, since it was with a _dude,_ now. A dude, who was also, _Eric fucking Cartman,_ and he had no _idea,_ how he was going to react. But no, it was okay, Eric was different now, he had changed now, he was so good and sweet, right? He was better now, right? It was okay now, _right?_ It was okay, he was okay, as he sat there, Kyle’s dick, quite literally clutched between his hands.

Eric sucked in his breath.

Kyle swallowed the lump, that had formed in his throat. Did he _know_ he was fully erect? Probably. It was pretty obvious. _“What?”_

_“...nice.”_

_“Nice?!”_

“What the fuck do you want me to say, _Kyle,_ you’re hung,” he muttered, biting down on his lip. “I always _knew_ you’d be big, _fuck.”_

Kyle was torn between being horny and embarrassed. _“Cartman…”_ he asked, poorly attempting to steady his breath. It was hard to focus like this, but he cared more about Eric’s mental health than a fucking blowjob. Not that he’d _complain,_ about receiving one, though. “Are you... _sure_ about this?”

“Why _wouldn’t_ I be?” he muttered, giving Kyle a look of confusion. “Do you not... _wanna_ do this—”

“I only want you to do it if you’re okay with it,” Kyle hesitated.

“Kyle, Why are you always _questioning_ me?” he glared. “I feel like you don’t even wanna _be_ with me, half the time we’re together, or like—”

“—I overheard,” Kyle blurted. God, was his timing ever _cursed._ As soon as he was about to get some actual head, _now,_ he decided to honest. “I overheard something I shouldn’t have, at your therapist’s. About...sexual trauma, and—”

_“—Kyle,”_ Eric blinked, staring focused into his eyes. It was dark, but the moonlight flashed over his face, highlighting his features. “You _seriously_ fucking think I don’t wanna suck your dick?”

“I don’t want you to feel _pressured_ to,” Kyle explained. “I know you have a history of—”

“—but I _trust_ you,” he cooed, slowly crawling over Kyle’s legs, until they were face to face. He let his lips brush over Kyle’s, hands sunken into the bed. “You know I _trust_ you, Kyle. And I’ve wanted you, my whole fucking life.”

Moments like this, made Kyle feel like he was lucid dreaming. It was so soft, so tender, but _hot,_ hearing words like that uttered; Eric’s soft lips, brushing up against his cheeks; the irony of his crotch on display, while his heart overflowed, just hearing those words. God, he was a fucking _mess;_ he just couldn’t believe he was a mess for _Eric Cartman._ Now he was torn between feeling horny, and...in…

_Lov—_

“You’re _sure?”_ Kyle whispered, faces not even inches apart.

_“Please,”_ he hummed, lips softly locking with Kyle’s once more. Everything felt floaty and weird and distant and artificial, but not in a _bad_ way, _never_ in a bad way.

“Then _do it,”_ Kyle groaned, as Eric pushed backward, hands flying back onto his dick. None of his exes had ever offered an actual fucking blowjob. He’d only ever heard things from Kenny. Kenny had received head from girls, _and_ guys alike; Stan never had. Wendy deemed blowjobs “degrading”, maybe they were, whatever, Kyle wasn’t thinking about anything else, the moment Eric’s fingers grasped around his dick. _“Shit.”_

_“What?”_ Eric asked. He had positioned himself in-between Kyle’s legs, clutching his length, and softly running his hands back over it first, legs sprawled out over his calves and lower things. “Does it _hurt?”_

“Obviously, _not,”_ said Kyle, with a wince. Oh, the fucking perks of being Jewish; his dick was 10x more sensitive to _anything,_ being circumcised and he knew after a few awkward locker room encounters, he was the only one of his close friends, _to_ be. Poor suckers. _“God,_ no, it doesn’t _hurt.”_

“‘Cause, you know I’d never wanna _hurt_ you,” Eric purred, running his hands back along Kyle’s cock. He was fully erect and already leaking pre-cum, which Eric was sure to reach down and slowly run his tongue over, lapping it all up. Kyle’s grip on his sheets tightened. He was beginning to feel uncertain of whether or not Eric Cartman sucking his dick put himself in a more _powerful_ position, or if it was a _surrender_ of power; because Eric was only just pumping his dick along and teasing around the tip, but Kyle was already biting down on his lip.

“I know, _baby,”_ Kyle groaned, and he gasped for air, as Eric tugged and pumped in a final motion, before slipping downwards and wrapping his lips around the tip of Kyle’s member. Only then, did Kyle realized they’d left the door open a crack and he had no fucking clue when his parents were coming home, but god, did that ever feel _good,_ so he didn’t give a shit.

Eric rolled his mouth back around the tip; the tip was always _so_ sensitive. Kyle’s head bucked backward, and he let out an airy breath, as Eric moaned, wrapping his hands back around the cock, and pumping softly. “Oh, _Kyle,_ I love it when you call me _‘baby’...”_

Kyle sighed, feeling the pleasure, coming from between his legs, as Cartman ran his mouth down along his dick again, this time going all the way. His tongue rolled softly down the cock, the most pressure being applied back up to the tip, where Eric softly hummed along, allowing himself to slip the cock in, deeper. Kyle’s dick was of decent size and girth, and the taste of pre-cum had already filled his mouth. Pre-cum was nasty, but _Kyle’s_ pre-cum, was never a bad thing, not in Eric’s eyes.

_“Kyle_...oh, _Kyle…”_

The further along he worked, the most _aggressive_ he got, until Kyle’s hands flew into Eric’s hair, and he pushed him right into his crotch. Eric nearly choked; instead letting out an airy sigh and whine, rushing his tongue back over the cock. Kyle moaned deeply, throwing his head back again, _fuck,_ he was being worked up to an orgasm. He dug his fingernails, deeper into Eric’s head, tugging at his soft hair. Eric didn’t seem to mind; he just went along, whining, as Kyle pushed him further onto his cock.

“Oh, _god,”_ he groaned, thrusting forward, into Eric’s mouth. Not exactly _throat-fucking,_ but they could do that some other time. Oh, it felt so good. Oh fucking _god,_ was he _ever_ glad, he’d had that conversation with Eric, and now he could have his dick sucked without any guilt.

Kyle’s hands completely wrapped around Eric’s head, as he went over, and back over the cock again, mouth filled with leaking cum and spit. Drool leaked from between his lips, and Kyle thrust upwardly into Eric’s mouth, his own tongue nearly choking himself, as he ran it along the cock. Kyle was going to cum any time soon, he could tell; his ushanka sat discarded beneath them, on the floor, and his cheeks matched his hair colour. Eric knew Kyle would fuck the brains out of him, next time they were given the opportunity, but for now, he loved seeing Kyle’s face flushed, with his hands locked through his hair.

“Oh, fuck, oh _fuck,”_ Kyle panted. Eric worked along faster, sucking and gagging himself with the tip of Kyle’s cock, as the other boy pumped into his mouth. “Oh, _baby,_ oh fuck, _fuck, f—”_

Eric felt the rush of cum fill his mouth, and he fell back, pushing off of Kyle’s dick. It wasn’t the first time he’d tasted a guy’s cum, he’d admit, but this was the very most _satisfying_ it’d ever been. It was warm and sticky, and he collapsed onto the back of Kyle’s comforter, swallowing the whole load, then letting out a resounding sigh. He himself had gotten _really_ erect, just from the action of sucking Kyle’s cock on its own, but it was nothing a trip to the bathroom wouldn’t fix.

Kyle’s breath was shaky and irregular; he rested with his back up against the headboard. He had never been given head before, and he had zero complaints, either. It felt good. It felt really, _fucking_ good. He looked back, at the other panting boy, laying back against his sheets. _His_ Cartman. _His_ Eric. His _baby._ He lazily reached back over, pulling Eric onto his body, letting him drape his arms around Kyle’s chest, clutching on for life. Kyle ran a few fingers through his own, messy, post-oral-sex hair, before reaching downwards and kissing Eric on the head.

“How... _was_ I?” Eric asked, burying his hot face, into Kyle’s shirt. They’d been too lazy and horny to go _all_ the way.

“I _came,_ didn’t I?” Kyle groaned, skin hot and flushed all over. He wished he’d taken off his sweater.

“Anything for _you.”_

“Wipe your lips, before you kiss me,” Kyle breathed. “I don’t wanna taste my own fucking cum.”

_“Already did,”_ Eric reached upwards, locking lips with Kyle again, who held him close and stroked his hair. Kyle jolted a bit, when he felt Eric’s own clothed crotch, rub up against his thighs.

“You’re fucking _hard,”_ Kyle bit his lip. “I’m already done, I can’t take care of that.”

“It’s fine, I will,” Eric cooed, lips dancing up against Kyle’s once more. _“Happy Valentine’s Day.”_

“God, you’re just…” Kyle laughed, into their kiss. “You’re just... _so_ fucking much to take in. _So_ fucking much.”

“Don’t you _get it,_ already, Kyle?” Eric grinned, eyes soft and half-lidded, light crossing over them. “I’m so fucked for you.”

Kyle supposed they both were.

 

* * *

 

Eric fell asleep in Kyle’s hoodie that night. The two were tucked under a blanket, out in front of the flat screen TV, down in the Broflovskis’ basement. Kyle invited him to stay over that night, but they had to sleep downstairs, instead. Sleeping together in a _bed,_ seemed like a really big step, and they’d already gotten through another _huge_ step, that night. Besides, if Sheila and Gerald found him in bed with _Eric Cartman,_ there would be a lot of questions to answer, that he simply couldn’t explain.

They were watching some stupid rom-com, and Eric was sleeping, tucked under Kyle’s arm, when he heard the front door of his house being unlocked. Light conversation between Sheila and Gerald could be heard, as they stepped in through the front entrance, and while he was happy to hear a soft laugh emitting from his mother’s lips, the position that he and Eric were sitting in, was a little too obviously romantic. He slipped out from Cartman’s grip, softly letting him lean against the arm of the couch, not ever waking him from his sleep. God, that was fucking cute. So, yeah, maybe they were _both_ pretty fucked.

Kyle crept upstairs, ushanka pulled back over his head, post-sex. It seemed kind of weird to everyone else, how dearly he held onto it, but wearing the thing was almost a force of habit, by now.

“Oh! Hey, Kyle,” said Sheila. She looked exhausted, throwing her arms around her son, to kiss him on the cheek. “Have a good night?”

_“Great_ night,” he muttered. Great, but not for the reasons _she’d_ think.

“That’s great, bubbe,” she yawned. “I’d love to hear about it tomorrow, but I am _exhausted._ I’m going to _bed,_ Gerald.”

Gerald ignored his wife and had already taken a seat, back at the table, logging into his laptop. Kyle narrowed his eyes. God, his dad was such an _ass,_ lately.

Sheila rolled her eyes, heading up the staircase, to her and Gerald’s bedroom. _“Goodnight.”_

Nothing from Gerald. Maybe he’d imagined that laugh.

The moment Sheila was out of earshot, Kyle glared at his father. “Mom was trying to say _‘goodnight’,_ to you.”

Gerald looked up from his position at their table, raising a brow at Kyle. “Oh. Hey, _Kyle.”_

“Dad, you just _completely_ ignored—”

“How was _your_ Valentine’s Day, Kyle?” Gerald asked. “You meet any cute girls?”

“Uh, not really,” Kyle muttered, suddenly recalling his lie from earlier, about the “party” he was attending. “Um... _Cartman_ is staying over, tonight.”

_“Cartman?_ Eric _Cartman?”_ Gerald cackled. “Kyle, it’s _Valentine’s Day,_ is this your way of _coming out?”_

Kyle really wished his dad had improved over the past seven years. He really, wished that he had, but he just got worse, instead. Gay jokes, rude comments, Kyle wasn’t even 100% certain his father wasn’t still trolling and bullying people online.

What a fucking shame.

“He’s my... _friend,”_ Kyle lied, trying to hide his agitation.

Gerald shook his head, with a laugh. “Eric _Cartman,_ huh? _Interesting,_ Kyle. That’s just... _interesting.”_

Kyle didn’t stay to find out what was “interesting”, about Eric Cartman.

Whatever it was, he didn’t want to know.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YES, THIS IS STILL AN ACTIVE FANFIC. i said it would be updated "tonight", but i got it done WAY sooner than i expected i would (...irony?).
> 
> also: YES I'M AWARE IT'S BEEN A MONTH, i've been crazy overwhelmed irl bc summer is over (boo hoo), so i'm a bit more busy nowadays...both IDIFY & AFILAM (for y'all who read both) are being actively written. chapters will be out a lot more frequently from this point going forward, because i'm like, 95% certain w/ the direction both are heading from this point forward
> 
> i'd expect updates everyone 1-2 weeks...? could be sooner or later, depending on how inspired i'm feeling. writer's block is a bitch. if ur ever wondering WHEN a new chapter will be posted, i'd check my tumblr or the [faq](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/faq) on my blog, bc that's where i'll keep schedule changes.
> 
> recap: kyle and cartman went out for valentine's day (lol gay) and then cartman s'd his d and gerald was a meanie. and that's what you missed on _glee_.
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

Eric Cartman had pretty much only ever had one person on his mind, for the majority of his life, and that was simple: Kyle Broflovski. At first, it was all self-speculation and things like, _“Why does Kyle hate_ me _the most?”_ . Third-grade Kyle was an entirely different _entity,_ who took pride in teasing and picking on Cartman. If Stan hadn’t questioned him, time from time, Kyle would have had Cartman pinned to the ground; knees scraped and bloodied, on his knees, kissing his feet and begging for mercy. Kyle had been a _vicious_ brat.

Then, Kyle changed. Cartman did the Eric Cartman thing to do and snapped and unintentionally fucked himself. Killed his own fucking father; the person that ironically, he’d been focused on the very _most_ before his life became all about _Kyle..._ though, he hadn’t even known Jack Tenorman was his dad. It was a poor coincident.

Maybe _that_ was what had prompted the “change” from Kyle. _He_ had to be the moral compass. _He_ had to be the “good” one. _He_ would never take credit for the monster he’d made. By the fourth grade, Kyle and Cartman _hated_ each other. Cartman loved pressing his buttons. Kyle loved fucking with Cartman’s plans.

...so when had Cartman developed a _crush,_ was the _real_ question?

He shouldn’t crush on Kyle. Not someone who had thrown him around back in the third grade. Not someone who played the fucking martyr. _God,_ did that _piss_ him off, as a kid. Who did Kyle think he was _fooling?_ He was so transparent…

And yet, maybe they _both_ were. Because when Kenny had died that one time, for _real,_ for real, Cartman had cried. And _Kyle_ had been there for him. _Kyle_ had wrapped his arms around his body. _Kyle_ had given him something _real._ Something Liane had never done. He had given Eric Cartman something to grasp onto and when Eric was given an inch, he’d take a mile...enough was never enough, as far as attention from Kyle Broflovski went…

Eric Cartman was the boy who had a kid’s parents murdered and turned into a fucking pot of chili. He was the most ignorant, hateful, piece of shit in town, at only 8 years-old. Kyle _knew_ that. He knew that better than _any_ of them, and he’d hated Cartman even _before_ that. So why was _he_ the one to pull him in, and pat his back and let him sob into his shoulder? Why _Kyle?_ If only it had been _anyone_ else. Stan. Fucking _Stan._ Stan would have been better. At least Stan gave a shit and wasn’t afraid to let on that he did. Cartman deemed that a “pussy-ish” trait to have, but of course, Cartman talked far too much for a teenage boy who wrote secret love poems and still kept a diary.

But everything _changed._ God, had everything _changed._

Kyle and Cartman’s toxic obsession with each other had always been...suspiciously less than _heterosexual,_ and now it just downright _wasn’t._ And it surprised no one, but Kyle and Cartman, themselves.

Kyle, because, what the _fuck?_ He was seriously falling for _Eric Cartman?_ The thought left him confused and flustered.

Eric was unsurprised, after a few years of realizing he’d fallen for Kyle. Seriously, with his luck, it was kind of meant to happen at _some_ point. He was a professional self-sabotager. It was just bound to happen.

But the _real_ surprise? _Kyle wanted him too. Kyle Broflovski._ Eric assumed Kyle could have _anyone_ he wanted. He thought Kyle was _perfect._ But Kyle wanted _him,_ of all people. Kyle wanted _Eric_ to be the one, whose cheeks, he dusted with kisses. The one he wrapped his arms around and intertwined his fingers with. He was the one he wanted, to watch TV with, and ignore the TV, _fuck_ TV, they’d just end up kissing, anyway. And that was what Eric _wanted._ _He_ was what Kyle wanted. What more could he possibly _ask_ for?

That was what swept all of his troubles under the rug. Kyle gave him food. Kyle saved him from hypothermia. Kyle rescued him from arrest. Kyle got him a journal. Kyle got him free therapy. Kyle drove him to Denver, every week. Kyle picked him over Stan. Kyle didn’t give a shit about a _single_ cheerleader, that was vying for him. Kyle did everything for Eric. He was a dream boy, _no,_ a dream _man,_ he was _Eric’s man._ He was _his._ He was allowed to kiss Kyle whenever he wanted. Kyle knew about his past and his trauma, and he accepted him as he was, damaged or not. Kyle _cared_ about him. And, who the fuck else was going to care about Eric Fucking Cartman, like that?

 

* * *

 

February would be over soon, which would lead into March, and then by end of March, Kyle knew he could expect to hear back from Columbia. There was just over a month left. Then he’d know.

They’d been sitting up in his bedroom, this one time. Kyle was staring at the ceiling, while Eric worked on his neck, moving his mouth back up and down, running over older hickies. There was nothing more possessive, then leaving behind lovemarks and Eric left plenty. Now, Kyle had a _true_ use for that scarf he’d been given...

_“What are you thinking about?”_

Kyle gently moved his hand back down, fingers slipping through Eric’s hair. It was soft and cool to the touch. He must have still been using that Lavender shampoo…

_“School.”_

_“Ew,”_ Eric pulled his face out from the crook of Kyle’ neck, to give him a disgusted look. _“If you want me to leave, j—”_

_“No,”_ Kyle blurted, pushing him back downwards. _“Not school-school, idiot. University.”_

There was a brief pause. _“...university?”_

_“Columbia,”_ Kyle muttered, a short sigh escaping his lips. _“You know. I’m waiting on my acceptance letter.”_

_“Oh. Yeah,”_ Eric scoffed. He inched in closer, mouth slipping back over his neck again. _“Whatever, Kyle, you’re a fucking genius aren’t you?”_

“No,” Kyle swallowed. _“I mean,_ maybe. _Doesn’t mean I’m getting in.”_

No reply. Kyle knew Eric didn’t like it when he focused on anything but _him_ whenever he went to work on his neck, but Kyle still had other things on his mind.

_“I shouldn’t worry, right?”_ he laughed. _“I mean, my transcripts are great, my interview went well, I’ve got an alu—”_

That was enough talking. Eric moved upwards, pressing his lips against Kyle’s; Kyle hoisting him up onto his body. Eric never let him discuss college. Eric didn’t like thinking about Kyle leaving. Kyle knew _that_ much. He didn’t even _know_ if Eric was planning on secondary education...probably not…

So Kyle didn’t mention it again.

He thought more about Eric than university nowadays, anyway.

Late February and the four were hanging out at Kyle’s. Well, actually, it was _supposed_ to be the four hanging out, but Stan had bailed. Again. He was out with Wendy, and it wasn’t that Kyle missed him or cared. They weren’t fighting, but they definitely weren’t “super best friends”, as of lately. It was actually a bit of a relief, if he was being honest with himself, although it was sort of... _weird,_ to hang-out with one of your best-friends since childhood _and_ your childhood-arch-nemesis-turned-secret-lover. Though, he and Eric were more than _lovers._ It wasn’t even fair to think of Eric as a “lover”, when they hadn’t had actual _sex,_ yet. And Kyle _hated_ the word “lover”.

So.

“Do you _have_ to play as a prostitute, _every_ time?”

“Yeah,” Kenny snickered, never deterred by Kyle’s pretentious disapproval. “She’s hot.”

“It’s degrading to women.”

“Like you actually give a shit,” said Kenny, knocking shoulders with Eric. Kenny sat in between the two, which was sufficiently awkward, but a lot less awkward than it would be if Kyle and Eric were forced to sit together, and keep their hands off of each other. Kyle could resist, but Eric could _never._ “What’s the difference between you playing as a pimp or a hooker?”

“I dunno…”

“Yeah, exactly, ‘cause you’re just _looking_ for something to complain about.”

_“Okay,_ asshole.”

“He’s just hungry,” Eric murmured, smashing a few buttons, all focus on the screen ahead of him, but a smile forming on his mouth. “We didn’t eat before coming over.”

“You guys are commuting together now?” Kenny giggled. “That’s so _sweet,_ Kyle.”

“We’re practically _neighbours,_ assface, it was inevitable.”

“Whatever,” Kenny stood up from the couch. “I’m good for cash; wanna order a pizza?”

“Go for it,” Kyle said, taking over for Kenny’s character. God, why did he have to pick the _prostitutes?_ Sheila would kill all _three_ of them, if she, Gerald and Ike returned home early to find them just playing GTA in _general,_ but the hookers made it _so_ much worse. “My mom keeps coupons in the kitchen.”

“I get my coupons from an _app,_ but thanks,” Kenny laughed, slipping into the kitchen, regardless. “God, what are you, trapped in the 90’s?”

_“Trapped in the 90’s,”_ Kyle muttered, leaning back into the couch, fiddling aimlessly with the controls of his XBOX remote. “I’ve found a few Britney Spears CDs in his room, for fuck’s sake…”

“Those are mine, and they’re from the _2000’s,_ Kyle” Eric muttered, inching his way over to Kyle’s side. “He’s just downloading them.”

“Jesus Christ, Kenny, ever heard of _Spotify?”_

Kenny was out of earshot. “Okay, coupon-boy,” Eric teased.

Kyle shook his head, eyes sneaking a glance back over at Eric. He was glad Eric was putting weight back on. He looked _better_ chubby. Maybe that was part of his weird appeal...he could go from cute and chubby one minute, and terrifying, manipulative _monster,_ in a snap...not that Kyle ever saw the _latter_ side of Eric Cartman anymore; he _loved_ that he got to touch and hold and kiss the former…

Eric inched closer and rested his head up against Kyle’s shoulder.

Kyle let him.

“You’re argumentative today,” Kyle commented. He tried not to let the feeling of Eric’s soft, warm body, leaned up against him, distract himself from the game. It was hard not to.

“You’re argumentative every fucking day of your life,” Eric murmured, face buried in Kyle’s hoodie.

“So are you.”

“See?” Eric sighed. “We’re _made_ for each other.”

Kyle’s stomach did an entire _flop._ “God, you gotta stop saying shit like that…”

“Like, what?” Eric beamed, as Kyle lowered his body, leaning back into the couch. Eric shifted his body along with his; head propped up against the other boy’s chest. “Aw, Kyle, you’re blushing!”

“You’re really pushing it, today,” Kyle bit his lip, eyes flitting back towards the kitchen, where Kenny was still on the phone, ordering dinner. “Sit up. He’s gonna come back.”

“What?” Eric laughed, a bit nervously. “You’re not still... _ashamed_ of me, right?”

_“What?”_ Kyle bit his lip. “No, _never.”_

_“Really?”_

“I’m just…” Kyle hesitated. “You know what’ll happen if it becomes public...it’s easier if it’s just you and me and we leave out the others, for now. You know, plus, then we get more...private time…”

“I _like_ private time.”

Eric let out a breathy sigh; wrapping his hands around the back of Kyle’s neck, and moving in forward. Kyle was slightly taken aback; he knew it was risky and a bad idea, but he didn’t care, not when Eric kissed him like _that._ He let himself be eased into it, automatically pulling Eric even closer in forward. It was just normal, by now. It was _weird,_ but it felt normal. Kyle wrapped his arms tighter around Eric’s body, the hum of a moan, resonating in his throat. Zero to ten, just like that.

_“OHHHHH-HO-HO-HO-HO!”_

And right back to zero, again.

Kyle’s arms unlatched from Eric’s back, then launching the other boy away from him. Eric flew back into the couch, scowling at Kyle in turn, whose face went straight to his palms. _You have to be fucking kidding me._

_“Kenny—”_

“KYLE AND _CARTMAN!”_ Kenny exclaimed. He was entirely _amused_ by the situation, and Kyle _hated_ it. _“WOW!_ Can’t say I didn’t call it!”

“You’re a _fucking_ prick.”

“I can’t believe you lied to me!” Kenny laughed. He didn’t sound the _least_ bit betrayed, just _amused._ “I asked you _over_ and _over_ again if you and Cartman were a thing, and you _lied!”_

“You _lied?”_ Eric muttered, turning over towards Kenny. “Why didn’t you ask _me_ instead?”

“I don’t trust you to tell the truth. You’re, like, my best-friend, Cartman, but you know I can’t trust you.”

“Touché.”

“So, you guys are what, like, _boyfriends_ now?” Kenny asked, arms crossed, leaned up against the wall. Kyle’s eyes drifted to a childhood portrait on the wall. _That_ was a kid, who would _never_ have kissed Eric Cartman. He wondered how that kid would feel _now._

“Oh my _god.”_

“Kyle, how do your _parents_ feel about you dating _Cartman?”_

“They...don’t know,” he muttered, cheeks on fire. Eric sat beside him, leaning back into the couch, eyes darting off to the side.

“How long has this been going on for?” Kenny snickered. “How long have you been _lying_ to me and Stan, for?”

_“Don’t_ victimize yourself!” Kyle snapped.

_“WHAT?!_ I’m not!” Kenny laughed. “I’m being legit, how long have you guys been like, fucking around for? When Cartman got back, right?”

“Got back from _where?”_ Eric’s brows furrowed together.

“Nebraska. The summer.”

“I never w _—ohhh,_ right.”

_“NO._ God, he was acting like a little bitch, back in August,” Kyle sighed, hiding his face in his palms. “What the _fuck_ was I thinking?”

“You were thinking with your dick; it’s just funny that it’s _Cartman_ you were thinking about,” Kenny sighed, in resolution.

“Okay, we can lay off on the _‘Cartman’_ jokes for a while, Jesus Christ,” Eric glared, facing away from the other two, positioned on the opposite side of Kyle on the couch.

“No, no, don’t get me wrong, Cartman, I think _everyone_ kinda saw this coming, anyway,” Kenny shook his head, dropping into the spot between he and Kyle, on the couch. “It was only a matter of time...honestly, I thought you guys would be fucking my middle school, but I guess not.”

_“Gross,_ dude,” Kyle scoffed.

“Don’t say that, Cartman’s _right_ there.”

“That’s not what I _—_ fuck, never mind,” Kyle groaned. “You can’t tell _anyone.”_

“Why not?” Kenny shrugged, grinning cheekily. “I mean, you guys make a cute couple.”

Kyle’s stomach did another flop. _“Fuck off.”_

_“What,_ I’m being serious!” Kenny laughed, turning over to Eric. “I think you and Kyle make a _really_ cute couple.”

“Why, _thank-you,_ Kenny,” Eric scoffed, in Kyle’s direction. “I’m glad _someone_ agrees.”

Kyle was torn between maintaining a ‘cool’ facade or defending his not-boyfriend. “I...think...I mean, I think...actually, _I_ don’t have to defend myself for anything, Cartman, I think I do enough for you to not have to “prove” I think we’re a “cute couple”.”

“Like _what?”_ Kenny asked turning back over to Kyle. “This is _really_ fucking funny.”

“I drive him _everywhere.”_

“I can drive, Kyle.”

“With _what_ car, your mother’s never home.”

“You know I don’t like talking about my mother, Kyle!”

“God, just get married already.”

_“Fuck off.”_

“You know what? I’m being rude,” said Kenny, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” Kyle mumbled. “You _are_ being rude, good catc—”

“ _—_ because you guys should be sitting, _together,_ and I’m ruining the moment,” Kenny sighed, getting up from his seat on the couch. “Now, you can be _together.”_

Kyle narrowed his eyes, zeroing in on Kenny with a glare. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Yes, yes I am,” he sighed. “But really, Kyle, dude, in all seriousness, I was just _waiting_ for this to happen. Like, I knew you had a crush on Cartman, by...at _least,_ November. Even before that.”

_“Ha,”_ Eric smirked. “That’s pretty gay.”

“Like you can talk, you’ve been in love with Kyle since the fourth fucking _grade,”_ Kenny sneered. “And, remember...the _basketball game.”_

Eric’s face dropped. “Oh, yeah.”

“What _basketball game?”_ Kyle asked.

Kenny cleared his throat. “Um, never mind.”

“What?”

“Uh,” Eric coughed. “That night, you went out with Bebe. I thought you and her were...together, or whatever.”

“Oh, come on,” Kyle sighed, scooching in closer to Eric. “I was _never_ into Bebe.”

“Yeah, well, _I_ didn’t know that.”

“He was really torn up.”

“Fuck off,” Eric snapped.

“Damn, you guys are _rude,”_ Kenny snorted. “Perfect couple.”

Kyle ignored the commentary. “Wait, the night I brought you dinner?”

Eric shrugged. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

“Is _that_ why you didn’t wanna talk to me?”

“I dunno,” Eric sighed. _“Maybe._ It was pretty fucking stupid.”

“That’s not stupid,” Kyle softened, slipping his fingers through Eric’s. He could take the shit from Kenny afterward; it wasn’t _that_ big of a deal to him anymore. Especially not if he’d already caught them making out. “You should have told me.”

Eric laughed, voice getting caught in his throat. “Yeah, _right.”_

_“What?”_

Kyle could tell Eric was upset. But he couldn’t revert to joking, or offensive comments, or projection anymore, not this time. Not when he’d _changed_ that way. “Why would you _ever_ be into _me?”_

There it was again, the feeling of his stomach flopping. Kenny was forgotten, the rest of the world was forgotten, _this_ was all that mattered. Kyle released his hand from Eric’s grasp, raising it to his face and stroking his flushed cheeks. “Why _wouldn’t_ I?”

“I can think of a few reasons.”

Kyle turned around, narrowing his eyes. “Are you still _there?”_

“God, I remember the way you two used to _fight,_ back in the fourth grade,” Kenny snorted. “We were all waiting for you to snap, and _kill_ Cartman.”

“Kyle would never kill anyone,” Eric insisted, wrapping his arms around Kyle’s waist, leaned up against his chest. “He’s too sweet to be a murderer.”

“Kyle isn’t _sweet,_ he’s a douche,” Kenny chortled. “You’ve got it so bad, you’re _delusional.”_

“I’m not a _douche,”_ Kyle scoffed, leaning his head against the couch’s rest, Eric climbing on top of him to drape his body over. “My family donates to charity _every_ single year.”

“Well, la-di-da,” Kenny rolled his eyes. “Like I said, you guys are the _perfect_ couple.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Kyle grumbled. He wasn’t very pleased about the PDA, but Eric was so _sweet_ and _soft_ and _good_ to him. So, _maybe_ he could make the exception _just_ that once, and let Eric cuddle with him.

“So...how did Stan take it?”

“Stan doesn’t know,” Kyle sighed. The thought of Stan finding out, slightly terrified him. He knew that Stan had no problem with Cartman as a person anymore, and in fact, they agreed with each other often. But he would likely _never_ agree with Kyle’s...situation, and that worried him.

“He _doesn’t know?”_ Kenny raised a brow. “Kyle...he’s your _best friend…”_

“We’re not that close anymore.”

“Why...cause of…”

“Yes, because of _Cartman,”_ Kyle scoffed. “He doesn’t like it when we hang out.”

“And yet, here you are, still making out with him on your mom’s couch,” Kenny shook his head, reaching into one of his back-pockets for a cigarette. “You must _really_ like him.”

“Don’t smoke in my house.”

“I was just forced to watch you and Cartman making out. I deserve this,” Kenny chortled, flicking his lighter. Kyle’s face remained dark, and so Kenny sighed, stalking back into the kitchen. “I’ll crack a window... _geez…”_

“Stan hates us... _hanging-out?”_ Eric asked.

“Yeah. He’s just jealous,” Kyle snorted, Eric lazily tugging at the sides of his ushanka. “He thinks you’re my _new_ “super best friend”.”

“We’re not friends,” Eric scoffed.

“No shit,” Kyle muttered. With Kenny out of sight, he had less trouble being affectionate. “Stan’s my best friend, but...you _know_...you know how much I care about you, and...you take priority.”

Eric gasped. “I take priority over _Stan?”_

Kyle rolled his eyes. “You take priority over _everyone.”_

Eric tugged on Kyle’s hoodie, pulling him up into another kiss; _clearly_ misinterpreting Kyle’s annoyance for romance. He almost considered holding back, but Kenny was gone, so instead, he wrapped his arms back around Eric’s body, pulling him closer; so often the two ached to get so much closer, what was closer than skin on skin? What was closer, than mouth on mouth contact? Was there any way at all, to get even _closer?_ If they tried pulling in any closer, someone was going to get the fucking wind knocked out of them. There was an urgency between Kyle and Eric, that Kyle independently blamed on the literal _years_ of sexual tension that had built, and he wanted to keep moving further, and further, and further…now that they’d talked it out, they’d worked it out, they’d discussed sex and Kyle knew Eric felt safe with him and comfortable and he was _so_ much better now, it was _okay_ to think of him like that.

Someday soon, they’d go further, and further, and _further…_

“Oh my god, are you fucking _kidding_ me?”

Eric gently slipped his mouth off of Kyle’s, sitting upwards, as he straddled his waist. Kyle felt as though the wind truly _had_ been knocked out of him, but in a good way, a _very_ good way. He blinked back at Eric, in awe of him instead, for once, heartbeat clamoring out of his chest. He knew he liked Eric. He knew he was attracted to him. He knew that he cared for him, deeply. But he’d never felt an intensity like that, not once before in his life. He let out a deep breath, then twisting around to peer at Kenny, who was standing in the doorway; something of shock and amusement playing out in his facial expression again.

“Can we get a little fucking privacy?” Kyle snapped.

“You invited me over!” Kenny laughed. “I can’t believe just a few minutes ago, you were ready to deny you and Cartman are a thing, but I leave for like, five seconds to have a smoke and you’re practically fucking on the couch.”

“I was never in denial about it,” Kyle glared. “I just don’t need everyone knowing our fucking business.”

“So, if I text _Stan…”_

“Don’t you fucking—”

“—I’d never do that,” Kenny rolled his eyes. “I thought you’d know that much about me by now.”

“I don’t like keeping this a secret.”

Eric backed off from Kyle’s body, leaning back into the couch, with his arms crossed over his chest. Both of the other boys stared in his direction, and Kenny’ eyes fell to Kyle.

_“What?”_ Kyle asked, eyes narrowed.

“I have nothing to say, here,” Kenny shook his head, slipping back through the kitchen doorway. “That’s _your_ business.”

Kyle bit his lip, turning back towards Eric. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Don’t you…” he started, hesitating on his word-choice. “Don’t you want things to be easier? I mean, come on, Kyle, everyone already thinks we’re ex-boyfriends.”

“Oh, right, fourth grade. Nichole and Token. Yeah, thanks to _you_ and your insistence on making _my_ life ten times harder than it needs to be, everyone already thinks we’re _exes,”_ he snapped, unintentionally. “You’ve been a pain in the ass, our whole fucking lives.”

Eric’s eyes narrowed to slits, and he got up from the couch.

“Oh, come on, Cartman,” he groaned, standing up. Eric crossed over from the couch to the staircase. “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” he hissed. “Don’t go telling fucking Stan about it.”

Kyle face-palmed, taking a seat back down on the couch, kicking himself, for the thousandth time, since he and Eric had started doing _whatever_ this was. His feelings grew stronger with every breath- _stealing_ kiss and secretly exchanged looks of longingness during homeroom and each time they climbed into Kyle’s car and headed off to the mall, which was the _only_ place in town where the two could be a little flirty and sometimes risk holding hands in public, because it was so crowded and no one gave a shit. But he didn’t know what to do when it came to the rest of the world and all of their opinions. Everyone had something to say, whether it was their place to, or not.

_“Kyle.”_

_“What?”_ he asked, refusing to lift up his head.

“C’mon,” Kenny shuffled over to Kyle, nudging his shoulder. “Let’s go outside and talk.”

“I don’t _wanna_ talk.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kenny laughed. “But Cartman needs time to cool off, and I _do_ wanna talk. So, let’s go.”

Kyle was grateful his parents had taken Ike to go shopping in Denver because they’d _never_ approve of Kenny’s smoking habit. The two headed out to Kyle’s backward; sitting propped up against the wall, on the patio. This time of year, it was dusted with snow and it was cold, but Kyle was wearing one of Eric’s hoodies and it was impossible to remain cold in a hoodie that soft and baggy and worn. It reminded Kyle of Halloween night, months ago. That was another night, thinking back on it, he should have kissed Eric. There were so many missed signs he’d fallen, _long_ before New Year’s Eve. He’d just been stupid.

Kenny held a cigarette between his lips, lighting the tip with the same old, stickered, metal lighter he carried everywhere with him. Kyle let out a deep sigh, staring into the evening sky, as snowflakes drifted onto the deck below. The smell of cigarette smoke no longer bothered him.

“Why...why do you...do that?”

“Do _what?”_ Kenny asked, ashing his cig.

“Smoke,” said Kyle. “Why do you smoke?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “My parents smoke, too. Stress-relief, I guess.”

Kyle sighed. “Gimme one.”

Kenny raised a brow. “You wanna cigarette?”

“You said it’s good for stress-relief.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Give me a cigarette,” Kyle snapped. “I couldn’t be more stressed if I fucking _tried.”_

Kenny looked aside, but reached into his pack for another one, passing it over to Kyle. “You know how to light it?”

“I’ve smoked before at parties,” Kyle grumbled, slipping the cigarette between his teeth, voice muffling. “Light me.”

Kenny handed his lighter over to Kyle, who lit the tip and took a long drag, coughing almost immediately. “You sure you’ve smoked before?”

“It’s been a while,” Kyle hissed, taking another long drag. Whatever. He could wash the smell of smoke out of Eric’s hoodie later. He was pretty certain that Eric never washed anything, anyway.

“You always scold me and _Cartman_ for smoking,” Kenny shook his head.

“It’s not good for him,” said Kyle, ashing his cigarette. “He already barely sleeps and eats poorly. He has poor eating habits.”

“You’ve got it _bad.”_

Kyle snorted, pulling the cigarette from where it was balanced in his mouth. “I dunno.”

“Listen. I’ve literally never seen you look so…”

_“‘Happy’?_ What a cliché,” Kyle rolled his eyes.

“No. _Invested,”_ Kenny shrugged. “I mean, you can act like you don’t care right to my face, but...unfortunately, I had to watch you and Cartman rolling around on your couch, so I can tell.”

“Oh, god…” Kyle groaned. He was already having difficulty, _still_ accepting their situation. Someone else knowing about he and Eric made things so much stranger. _“He_ was the one who kissed _me.”_

“You didn’t seem that unhappy about it,” Kenny ashed out his cigarette again, slipping it back between his lips. “Who kissed who the first time?”

“Neither,” Kyle breathed. “It was...mutual, I guess.”

“But you came back from New York early for him. So it was _you.”_

_“No,”_ Kyle insisted. “I came back home early because I missed my family.”

“God, you’re an idiot,” Kenny chortled. “Kyle, when are you gonna just buckle down and admit you have feelings for Cartman? I caught you, it’s over! It’s not a bad thing!”

“You’re making it out to be so much more serious than it actually is.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Kenny teasingly punched him. “You and Cartman are both so transparent, I mean, I’ll never understand how two people who were so _obsessed_ with each other, for as long as you both were, only realized _now_ that you’re in love.”

“I’m not in love with Cartman!”

“Yes, you are,” Kenny rolled his eyes. “And I knew it before, Kyle, because you’re both so repressed. You picked him up for school every day and kicked Stan to the curb to spend more time with him, you gave him that fucking scarf, I dunno what happened on Halloween night, but he told me you took him to Denver, the _therapy..._ you two are _pathetic_ for each other. It’s over. You gave in. You can stop fighting it now.”

There was hesitation, but Kenny was right.

It was over.

“I know.”

_“What?”_

“I mean...I know you’re right, I know I’m fucked, it’s just…” Kyle coughed on his cigarette. “I’m confused.”

“Yeah,” Kenny nodded. “First dude you like will confuse the fuck out of you at first.”

“I’ve never liked another guy before,” Kyle shrugged. “I don’t even like...look at Cartman as a... _dude,_ or whatever, you know, it’s like...I just...he’s another person, I dunno.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the idea. We’re all just fucking people anyway,” Kenny shrugged. “So what, you’re bi? Pan? _Gay?”_

“I’m not fucking gay,” Kyle scoffed.

“Damn, and I thought you were so _‘woke’.”_

“I’m not _gay,_ that’s all I meant,” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “I dunno. I guess I’m bi, but I dunno. I only care about Cartman.”

_“Aww._ How sweet,” Kenny snickered. “If it makes you feel better, Cartman has only ever cared about you, too. But that’s fucking obvious.”

“Yeah, but not in the way I _thought_ he cared,” Kyle sighed. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

“What do you like about him?”

What did Kyle _like_ about Eric Cartman? He liked how charming he was. He knew Cartman could sweet-talk himself into almost anything, and now that they were together, he knew Eric could talk sweetly, _period._ He was cute, but he was also handsome. Kyle liked his big blue eyes and how soft his hair felt when his fingers were laced through it, as they made-out over top of his bed. He liked how soft and warm his body was; he liked that Eric felt the need to take his hand, any time he was anxious. He yelled and screamed and cried, _so_ much less, now that he had Kyle. Maybe he had _always_ had Kyle; he had wanted every part of him entirely, even before that first, intoxicating kiss. Kyle liked that they didn’t have to have sex, to show each other how they felt. He liked that Eric felt comfortable with him and he liked that everything made him think of Eric, but never in a bad light. No, not anymore...he liked _himself_ for holding-out on Eric and trusting that he _could_ be better, and he _would_ be better, and _no one_ could change that for them, and more than anything, Kyle Broflovski _loved_ Eric Cartman.

Kyle groaned, head falling into his crouched up legs. “He’s a _really_ good kisser.”

Kenny sighed, shaking his head. _“I know.”_

“...what do you _mean,_ you _know?”_ Kyle sat back up, cigarette slipping from his fingers, through a crack in the deck. _“Fuck.”_

Kenny shrugged, with a snicker. “He’s my best friend, dude. I’ve made-out with him once or twice...three or four times...maybe…”

Kyle’s face scrunched up. “I’ve never made-out with _Stan.”_

“Yeah, because you guys have zero chemistry,” Kenny shrugged, reaching into his box of cigarettes for another to replace Kyle’s. _“I,_ however, have chemistry with _everyone.”_

“When did you make-out with _Cartman?”_

_“Wow._ Your biggest tell is still jealousy, hey?” Kenny nonchalantly tapped the filter of his cigarette, passing a new one to Kyle. “You and Cartman really _are_ made for each other.”

“Kenny, _when_ did you and Cartman make-out?” Kyle glared. “I need to know.”

“Oh, so you’re the big, jealous, possessive boyfriend-type. I bet Cartman’s into that,” Kenny grinned, teasingly. _“Relax,_ Kyle. It was _years_ ago. He didn’t cheat on you.”

“But, what do you _mean_ you made-out with Cartman?” Kyle seethed, snatching back Kenny’s lighter and igniting the flame. “I mean, like, what the fuck happened?”

“He’s gay, I’m bi, or pan, or _whatever,_ we wanted to try it out a few times,” Kenny’s words were light and breezy, but they angered Kyle. “It’s not like he was ever that into me.”

“But...he never _told_ me…”

“Kyle!” Kenny laughed, nudging Kyle, forcefully. “Because it doesn’t matter! It was years ago, just for fun and he’s only ever loved _you!_ He probably _forgot_ about it! I know I almost did; I’ve made out with, like...god, _how_ many people since…”

Kyle shook his head, taking a long drag. “I had no idea.”

“You wanna know a secret?”

He let out a shaky sigh. “Sure.”

“Once, when we were making out, he moaned _‘Kyle’.”_

And, Kyle was sitting right back up again. “Wait, _really?”_

“Yeah, and it was the saddest thing I’d ever heard,” Kenny scoffed. “It was when you were dating...Lola? I think? God, that was brief, but...he was so torn up about it. We were kissing in my room, just to kill time, and he just kinda...let it out.”

“Oh, right,” Kyle muttered. Lola was never a ‘girlfriend’. Just kind of a casual thing. “Like, how did he say it?”

“God, I don’t wanna think about _that._ I felt like I was caught in some sort of pathetic love-game between you and Cartman. Poor Heidi,” Kenny shuddered. “I dunno, it was something like _‘Oh, Kyle’_...and then I pulled away and he got all weird and said he’d just mixed-up our names because ‘Kenny’ and ‘Kyle’ sound _so_ alike...I mean, I knew I was just a substitute for you, even _before_ that, but that just solidified it.”

Kyle took a long drag on his cigarette. He hoped Eric wouldn’t find him like this. He didn’t want to look like a hypocrite. “I’m...sorry. I guess.”

“You know, Kyle, I used to resent you,” Kenny sighed. The sky above them was gradient; dark navy melting into a soft pink horizon. “When we were kids, y’know. You were the one everyone fussed over; poor Kyle-this, poor Kyle- _that;_ I had my own shit I was dealing with and it seemed like all anyone ever wanted to do was focus on you. You were like, this kid who I swear to god, _no one_ could touch. Everyone acted as if you could do no wrong. It was all about _Kyle…_ Stan’s best-friend, Cartman was _obsessed_ with you, no one ever seemed to care about _me,_ at all.”

Kyle was stunned into silence for once. He didn’t know what to say, because he’d never _known_ someone felt that way about him. “I’m sor—”

“—shit, I mean, I couldn’t even make-out with fucking _Cartman,_ without it being all about you. But that’s beside my point.”

“Then what _is_ your point?” Kyle’s voice wavered. “Because now I’m feeling like a pretty shitty friend.”

“It’s not your fault. Dude, I like you. You’re one of my closest friends, even if we don’t talk all that much, anymore. I like spending time with you. That’s beside the point,” Kenny sighed, biting his lip. “My point is...you’re _Kyle._ You’re the AP student, and future valedictorian, _probably,_ you’re gonna go to Columbia and do great things, and whatever. But Kyle, I know you, and I gotta tell you...you need to be careful with Cartman.”

Kyle scoffed, taking another drag. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been nothing but fucking great to him, I take him to therapy weekly, I drive him everywhere, I pay for his food, I—”

“—that’s my point,” Kenny insisted, crushing his finished cigarette under his boot. “Cartman isn’t a _project._ If you think that somehow, you’re doing the world a huge favour by taking care of him and dating him, so he’ll improve for the greater good, you’re going about this the wrong way.”

“We’re not in a relationship.”

“Does _Cartman_ know that?” Kenny blinked. “Kyle, he’s a _person,_ not a _project.”_

“I’m not _treating_ him like a project!”

“Do you love him?”

“I—I care about him,” Kyle hesitated, cheeks heating up. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, let out a shaky breath. “He’s not a project. I...I just want him to...Kenny, he’s _not_ a project, I’m doing all this because I care about him.”

“Kyle,” Kenny said firmly, eyes locked into the other boys. “Cartman is _not_ a normal person. He’s not like any of the girls you’ve dated. You can’t treat him like one.”

“I know Cartman better than _anyone_ else does.”

“Are you sure about that? ‘Cause, you didn’t know he was in love with you, ‘til a few months ago,” Kenny shrugged. “I know you see a light in Cartman, and I know you want him to change for the best and be better and be ‘good’ like the rest of us, but you _cannot_ be too soft with him.”

“I’ve never been ‘soft’ on Cartman,” Kyle snapped. “There’s nothing wrong with me trying to get him some fucking help; his life sucks. He’s...his home-life and his _past…”_

“I know his life sucks, believe me,” Kenny chortled. “I know about the traumatic shit, and I know about his mom’s boyfriend, through my parents, and...it’s not good, but believe me. I see the way you talk to him and stare at him, and all the things you _do_ for him...he’s going to eat you alive.”

“He’s getting better.”

“But he’s still Cartman,” Kenny insisted. “He’s my best friend, and that’s why I’m telling you this. I know you love him, and he loves you more than _anything,_ Kyle, but he is _dangerous._ With Cartman, it’s gotta be tough love or nothing. If you give him an inch, he’ll take a mile. Fucking _miles.”_

“Cartman can’t manipulate me,” Kyle rolled his eyes. “He’d do anything I fucking ask him to do.”

“Oh, I know you think you’re untouchable,” said Kenny. “Everyone does. And I support you two, I’m really fucking glad the bickering and sexual tension is all over, thank fucking _god,_ it’s over. But you need to be careful. He’ll twist your arm behind your back, and make you think it was your own idea.”

“I can handle Cartman,” Kyle said, ashing out his cigarette. “Maybe if you could, you two would have worked out.”

Kenny grinned and just shook his head in silence. “You _really_ don’t...you’re not listening to me.”

Kyle could only shrug. “I’m sorry.”

“You sound sorry,” Kenny sighed, getting up on his feet. “I have to be getting back home.”

“Oh, come on, dude, don’t be like that,” Kyle rolled his eyes. “I was just kidding.”

“No, I really have to go,” Kenny said, finishing up his cigarette. “Karen has a dance recital later.”

“Oh,” Kyle shrugged. “How can you guys even afford to send her to _ballet_ lessons?”

“Not ballet, hip-hop,” Kenny narrowed his eyes. “It’s free, over at the middle school. A school dance club...I’m one of the supervisors, on the weekend.”

Kyle scoffed. “You never told us you supervise a girl’s dance team.”

“It’s co-ed, actually,” Kenny shook his head. “You never asked.”

Kyle didn’t think he’d ever heard Kenny talk that much, in his entire life. And it felt weird.

“I’m gonna grab my bag from inside, and then I’ll peace out,” Kenny said fiddling with the doorknob. “Need another cig?”

Kyle shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m okay.”

“Alright,” Kenny nodded, twisting open the back door. “And Kyle? Talk to Cartman. Because I’m pretty sure _he_ thinks you’re his boyfriend. Don’t break his heart. He’s more sensitive than he lets on...and he’s already pretty obvious about it, too.”

“I thought _he_ was the _dangerous_ one,” Kyle rolled his eyes, flicking at his dying cigarette.

“Cartman _is_ dangerous. He’s a like a fucking time bomb. He’s fragile, but when he goes off he’s not...he doesn’t _explode,_ he…” Kenny looked away, clearly uncomfortable. “Just...be careful with him.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Kyle swallowed. “I’ve handled Cartman for this long, I think I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve gotta go,” Kenny shrugged, clicking open the back door. “See you Monday.”

Kyle remained outside for just a little bit longer, taking a final drag on his cigarette, then crushing it under his socked foot. He didn’t know what Kenny was trying to imply, and he didn’t want to think about it either. Kyle was _far_ from stupid. He wasn’t an A-student, he was an _A+_ -student. Kenny got C’s and D’s if he was _trying._ No, Kyle was smart and headstrong and waiting on a place at Columbia, for that very reason. Someone as vulnerable and easy to please as _Eric Cartman,_ couldn’t weasel their way into his mind and turn his word inside out. Kenny didn’t understand he and Cartman.

It was much too complex.

Kyle slipped in through the back door, taking note of Eric, who was standing by the front entrance, throwing a coat over his arms. Eric still looked unhappy and if _Eric_ was unhappy, _Kyle_ was unhappy, and so he rushed over to where he stood in the foyer, not bothering to even change into something else or mask the scent of smoke. If Eric wanted to call him out for being a hypocrite, he could do so, as long as he _stayed._

“What are you _doing?”_

“Going home,” Eric muttered.

_“Why?”_

“You clearly don’t want me here.”

“What?” Kyle glared. “Because of the _Stan_ -thing?”

“Yeah,” Eric said, twisting the door-handle. “Don’t call me.”

Kyle placed a firm hand on his shoulder. _“Cartman..._ come on...it’s not like that; I’m not _hiding_ you.”

“Yeah? _Well?”_ Eric snapped. “If you really cared, you’d be _proud_ of me, _Kyle._ I feel _unwanted.”_

“You aren’t _unwanted,”_ Kyle sighed. “You know I want you.”

“If you wanted me, you’d tell _Stan_ about us.”

“What _about_ us?”

Eric’s eyes narrowed and he pushed Kyle’s hand away, heading back outside.

Kyle panicked.

“Fine, just go running back to _Kenny!”_

Eric paused in his tracks, body jolting and then turning back around to face Kyle. _“What_ did you say, Kyle?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you and Kenny _hooked-up?”_

Eric’s face was a mixture of offended and confused. “What, you mean _years_ ago, when we kissed, while you had a _girlfriend?”_

“Why wouldn’t you tell me that?” Kyle hissed.

And then Eric’s face twisted into a grin, instead. “You’re jealous.”

_“No.”_

Eric shrugged, nonchalantly. “Goodbye, Kyle.”

“Okay, maybe—” Kyle hesitated, chasing after him. He couldn’t let Eric leave, _angry_ at him. “I just don’t know why you wouldn’t tell me.”

“Because it was years ago, just to experiment...to take my mind off of _you,”_ Eric shrugged. His facial expression was dark, though his words turned soft. “What did he tell you?”

“The same thing you’re telling me,” Kyle said. He turned back, softly shutting the front door behind him, hands then flying to his pockets, as he made his way across the yard to Eric. The sun had finally set and light snowflakes floated downwards from the sky. “But don’t you think I should know that you and Kenny used to hook-up? I mean, that’s kinda something I should know, Cartman.”

“It was just kissing, Jesus Christ,” Eric shrugged. “I didn’t realize you’d be so jealous.”

“I don’t like keeping secrets.”

“How ironic.”

“Don’t...don’t do that…” Kyle wavered. “You know why it’s important to keep this private.”

“I just wanna be able to hold your hand in public without getting scolded,” Eric snapped, turning on his heel. “You’d do it for _Stan,_ I guess. You did it with all your exes. But you won’t do it for _me.”_

_“Stan_ isn’t the one I have feelings for,” Kyle said, approaching the other boy. Eric was acting standoffish; he refused eye contact, but it became harder when Kyle slipped their fingers together. “You know that.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why can’t we tell anyone?” Eric glared, pulling his hands back from Kyle’s. “I’m going home, Kyle, since you _clearly_ don’t care.”

Yes, he _did._ Kyle stayed up every night until the wee hours doing homework because his afternoons were consumed by Eric Cartman. He barely attended student council anymore, because of Eric Cartman. He was taking risks, that could ruin his entire _future,_ for Eric Cartman. He had to. He _had_ to make sure he received help and food and he was happy. He loved him, so that was his responsibility. _Was_ Kyle being selfish, for keeping them a secret? Was he selfish for trying to convince himself they _weren’t_ in a relationship? They _were_ in a relationship. He knew it, Eric assumed it and even Kenny had gotten hints of it, _before_ the incident. Kyle was being _selfish._ Kyle was wrong. If only he cared _enough._

“No, I _do,”_ he panicked again, lacing his fingers back through Eric’s. “I _do_ care, I care about you, so, _so_ much, Cartman, you know that. Don’t do this.”

“You won’t even call me your _‘boyfriend’.”_

“You _are_ my boyfriend,” Kyle insisted, pulling him back in. Eric finally locked his eyes back into Kyle’s. “And I don’t wanna be with _anyone_ else, Cartman.”

“Most people don’t call their boyfriends by their _last name.”_

He’d never considered that he’d prefer to be called ‘Eric’. He’d never _called_ him ‘Eric’ before; maybe only once or twice when they were really young. But if that’s what he wanted, if that’s what would make him happy, then Kyle would do it. He’d do it for him.

_“...Eric?”_

Eric smiled brightly up at Kyle, wrapping his arms around his body, and reaching upwards, resting his head in the crook of Kyle’s neck. _“I’m so glad you’re mine.”_

And no tender, romantic, moment between the two was complete without plenty of kissing, so that’s where that lead; and Kyle really _didn’t_ care that they were in the middle of his front yard, because Eric was _so_ soft and _so_ sweet. Besides, it was too dark and cold for anyone but the two of them to be out that evening. Colorado winters were bone-cold, but Eric’s love kept Kyle warm. His words were like kindling and his kisses were the flame.

And Kyle could handle a little bit of fire.

 

* * *

 

His _boyfriend._ Kyle was his _boyfriend._ His _boyfriend,_ who called him _“Eric”_ and took him on dates and kissed him with a force, that knocked him right off of his feet and paid for his problems. Who else would _ever_ care for him, that unconditionally? He was right, the moment he’d said it himself; he was _so_ fucked for Kyle. That was something of love; something of devotion. Eric Cartman was entirely devoted to Kyle Broflovski, and Kyle would be entirely devoted too. He knew it; he knew it by the way Kyle kissed him, he loved him and there was nothing that would change that and no one could steal Kyle away from him. Eric believed it, from the very bottom of his heart: he and Kyle were _soulmates._ He didn’t need confirmation from Kyle or anyone else to know that it was the truth.

He made his way home that evening, with stars in his eyes and his whole heart overflowing with _love._ He’d felt that strongly about Kyle, _long_ before an official relationship with him, but his fondness only grew stronger, the more time they spent together. Usually, Kyle would have walked him home, but his parents were coming back and expected a clean house, so Eric went off on his own.

He twisted open the front door, to a darkened room and the sound of men talking; vulgar words and coughs of smoke escaping their lips; air polluted by the scent of weed. He was _not_ supposed to see things like this. He should _not_ have gone back so soon.

_“Eric?”_

He paused, at the first step up to the second floor of their house. Eric had hoped he could slip up to his room, undetected. No such luck.

_“Where the fuck d’you think you’re going?”_

“Bedroom,” he swallowed. “My bedroom.”

The gruff voice coughed out an ugly laugh, a resounding chorus of other chortles following from the rest of the men. “You don’t fucking walk in on another one of _my_ business meetings like that, again. _Understood?”_

He let out a breathy reply, nearly frozen in his tracks. _“Understood.”_

_“Get back up to your fucking room,”_ he snapped. “I guess I need to have a little _chat_ with Liane later.”

_“That’s_ the kid?” It was a snort of derision. “Good fucking _lord.”_

_“Don’t pick on him too hard,”_ His future fucking stepdad. “His mom’s a _whore.”_

“Yeah.” More laughter. Nauseating _laughter._ “A real fucking _pincushion.”_

There was a loud scuffling sound, followed by shouting and laughing, but the men’s faces were hidden; only one harsh light shone down onto the table, where cards, poker chips and wadded-up stacks of cash lay. Eric’s fist clenched down onto the banister. He practically had to _force_ himself to shrink back upstairs, running down the hallway and slamming the door to his bedroom shut behind him.

It was that summer, and _Kyle,_ and his mom’s boyfriend, and _Kyle,_ the therapy, and _Kyle;_ his head spun. He was turning into someone he didn’t recognize anymore. But, no, it was fine. It wasn’t his fucking fault he was _softening._ Maybe it was for the best. It was for the best because now he was Kyle’s baby. He got to hold his hand and kiss him and undo the buckle on his jeans and take in his body; and how he _worshipped_ Kyle’s body like a fucking temple. And even better, _he had Kyle._ Kyle was _his_ man and he took priority and _no one else_ had Kyle. No, _nobody_ else in the _world;_ he belonged exclusively to _Eric Cartman._ Kyle was his, at last, and that made it okay.

His life was almost perfect.

_Almost._


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recap: kyle found out cartman and kenny made out a few times just for fun, like a long time ago and kyle got hella jealous and SUS. and then kenny gave him a warning,,, yes. it's so late rn oh my god.  
>   
>  **i'm so excited to post the chapter after this one, because it's really fucking wild...like after this, things are about to start picking-up/getting trés dramatique soooooo, be warned (lmao)**
> 
> sorry eva. it's 3am. stan deserves better perhaps. updates on this story will be more frequent soon bc i know exactly how i want this shit to end (it won't be over for awhile still, tho).
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

There were many things that Kyle didn’t touch when it came to Eric Cartman. He was set off so easily, he was fragile and so easy to break. Kyle had him in a position where he felt safe getting closer to him and Kenny’s words still lingered on his mind.

_“Cartman is dangerous. He’s a like a fucking time bomb.”_

It was the reason Kyle didn’t broach the Kenny-subject again. He hated to admit it to himself, but he _was_ jealous and uncomfortable with the fact that Cartman had spent some of his spare time kiss-practicing with Kenny...maybe _that_ was why Eric hadn’t wanted Kyle telling Kenny he was bisexual, or gay, or _whatever..._ did that make it seem all too real? Not that Kyle would have wanted to take Kenny’s place at the time and he knew that Eric was, _god,_ head over fucking _heels,_ for him, but he was a naturally jealous person. And Eric Cartman belonged to him and him, only.

Kyle knew what the first day back to school as a “boyfriend” was like, from the few times it had happened...elementary school, junior high _and_ high school. His friends knew before anyone else. With Nichole, they’d met up before class and held hands around school. Bebe liked clinging to his arm. There was that _one_ day during his stint with Lola, that he’d had Stan swing by to pick her up with them and she cuddled the entire time. Lola was one of those girls who shopped on Etsy and still kept a day-planner. She was like that girl in New York. Kyle really didn’t know how his type of girl translated to an interest in Eric Cartman and yet, there he was.

Yup, Eric Cartman was his boyfriend. Kyle _probably_ should have figured they were already boyfriends, even before he’d _said_ the word “boyfriend”, but now it was official. And Kenny knew. And it felt _weird._

Kyle knew Eric wasn’t terribly happy about the lack of PDA that Kyle allowed at school...they weren’t a _secret_ couple, no, Kyle allowed hand-holding and little things outside of school, but the general rule for the time being was simple: _Stan mustn't know._

That mattered _very_ little to Eric.

In homeroom, they sat together, just out of sheer _luck…_ ‘Broflovki’ and ‘Cartman’ were essentially destined to be desk-buddies, since childhood and now Kyle was thankful for the coincidental closeness. The Monday after they’d become “official”, Eric passed Kyle a love-note and it was so lame and Kyle kept it regardless and pulled his boyfriend into the boy’s bathroom after homeroom, and they made-out in the third stall. Even after the bell rang, Kyle’s hands stayed glued to Eric’s cheeks, and Eric stayed pinned to the wall and both felt _stupid_ in love; out of breath, out of patience, _god_ had it really been _December 31st_ when they first kissed? Was it really March? They’d been together three months and it felt like maybe a week...a week at the very _most…_

“You’re gonna be late for World Issues,” Cartman muttered between a kiss.

“What?” Kyle ignored it. He ignored it, going back in again; Eric’s lips must have been addictive because he literally couldn’t get enough of this.

“Kyle,” he whispered, hands wrapped around his wrists. “You have class…”

“So do you,” Kyle murmured, pecking his nose. Eric had a button nose and he _hated_ how kissable it was. “We should stop.”

_“No,”_ Eric said, throwing his arms around Kyle’s neck. “I mean, don’t stop. _Please,_ don’t stop.”

“We can make-out later,” Kyle breathed. “We’re going to Denver, remember?”

“Yeah, but I wanna make-out _now,”_ he giggled, pulling Kyle back downwards and into another kiss.

Kyle remembered a time, he would have hated the entire concept of skipping class to kiss Eric Cartman.

Kyle remembered a time, he would have said ‘no’ to skipping class to kiss Eric Cartman, even if it was an enticing thought.

Then he tucked back a stray strand of Eric’s hair and pressed their lips together again and forgot.

Every minute they spent together at school, where they weren’t touching each other was torture. Lunch, they were silent. Class, Kyle spent thinking of Eric. Then they got into his car and kissed and Kyle drove Eric far out of town and held his hand and when Eric left for therapy, he was still on Kyle’s mind.

Eric Cartman never visited Kyle’s mind.

He prolonged his stay.

He became a permanent resident.

And neither would have it any other way.

 

* * *

 

The affection didn’t stop as they parted; Eric had become a permanent distraction, too. Studying became an almost impossible task for Kyle, as Eric showered him with continuous affection. Each phone call away from each other was riddled with terms of endearment and sweet stuff that Kyle knew he would find annoying to a fault from anyone else...every text message was a love letter; another testimony to how deeply _enthralled_ Eric Cartman was with him.

 

**Eric Cartman  
** **8:37 PM  
** you’re so perfect kyle i think about u all day  
u know that right  
you’re so dreamy and i’m so happy  
ik that’s gay but whatever  
never happier than when i’m with u

 

Kyle sighed at the sentiment. He knew Eric meant it because he was _almost_ grammatically correct.

 

**8:40 PM  
** I’m coming over  
I miss you

 

**Eric Cartman  
** **8:41 PM  
** no wait  
lemme come over instead

 

**8:42 PM  
** My parents are home tonight  
Don’t wanna risk it

 

**Eric Cartman  
** **8:45 PM  
** oh ok  
fine  
nvm

 

Kyle hesitated. He hated the finality of those words. “Fine” never meant _“fine”._

 

**8:45 PM  
** I can go over to your house though

 

**Eric Cartman  
** **8:47 PM  
** not a good time

 

**8:48 PM  
** Why not??

 

No reply.

 

**8:50 PM  
** I wanna see you

**8:54 PM**  
Where are you?

 

**Eric Cartman  
** **8:57 PM  
** nvm

 

**8:57 PM  
** What’s wrong??

 

_“Kyle!”_

He pushed his phone aside the instant Sheila clicked open the door to his room. He was _supposed_ to be doing homework. Keywords, being: _supposed_ to.

“Hi,” Kyle cleared his throat, twisting around in his chair to face his mother.

“Bubbe, have you heard back from Columbia yet?”

“I’m not supposed to know ‘til the end of the month,” he muttered, scratching his neck. “Regular admissions date is March 31st. I think.”

“I’m glad you applied to Denver and NYU, too,” she said, stepping in through the doorway. “I mean, I know your heart is set on Columbia, but _just_ in case…”

Kyle was pretty certain that NYU couldn’t qualify as a _safety school;_ if anything that was Denver. But either way, he was dead set on one school and one school, only. “...yeah.”

“I actually _did_ come here, with a purpose, Kyle,” Sheila cleared her throat, taking a seat up against his bed. “I’m not just here to spy on you or make sure you’re doing homework, I wanted to...talk to you, about something a little sensitive.”

Kyle bit his lip. God _fucking_ damnit, that was how it always went, wasn’t it? You tell one person a secret; next thing you know, the whole town knows your business. Not that he imagined Kenny and his mother were exchanging texts or anything, but the idiom about two people only being able to maintain a secret if one of them is _dead_ may have been true.

“What is it?” he swallowed.

Don’t say _“Cartman”._

_Please don’t mention “Eric Cartman”._

“It’s about your father.”

Relief.

_...and_ more confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I know things have been...a little _tense,_ over the past few months...maybe even years, but the thing is,” Sheila sighed, rubbing her hands together. “Your father has been working on this single case for a long, long time now and it’s driving him crazy. I mean, not literally, _obviously,_ but his job is very stressful. He doesn’t mean to be so snippy with you, he’s just under an immense amount of pressure…”

“It’s okay.”

“No, Kyle, it’s not…” she hesitated. “I’m not making excuses for him. I want you to know, I don’t think his behaviour is excusable. And I don’t want that to deter you from going into law either, Kyle, you’re so talented. So _please_ don’t let this weigh you down.”

If he were being honest, he hadn’t given Gerald a whole lot of thought lately. Eric took up about...90% of his mind. It was disgusting. Repulsive. Both Kyle and Cartman functioned on one-tracked mindsets and so dating each other was probably a tad toxic for both, but at least they were on the _same_ track. No problems.

And if Kyle were to be _extra_ honest, he and his father’s relationship had been strained for almost seven years by then. He wondered if the hypothesis that it took seven years of being friends with someone, for it to become a lifelong friendship, also applied to familial grudges.

“I’m fine, Mom,” he insisted. _“Really.”_

Kyle’s phone buzzed with a text and his eyes flitted over to the screen on instinct.

 

**Eric Cartman  
** **9:08 PM  
** dont come over  
im not mad  
its just not a good time  
i miss u tho

 

He _smiled,_ on instinct. They hadn’t seen each other in about five hours. That was nothing. Was it really possible to be _that_ dedicated to someone?

_“Kyle,”_ Sheila said firmly, grabbing him by the wrist. “Who’s texting you?”

“Uh, no one,” Kyle shrugged, flipping his phone over. “It’s just a reminder.”

“What kinda reminders are you setting on that phone, that make you blush like that?”

Kyle turned around in his chair, trying his best to avoid eye contact. God, he hated that she could see right through him. Mothers knew too much. He could only shrug.

“Kyle, when are you gonna tell me who you’re dating?!” Sheila groaned. “You’re really gonna keep something this big from your own _mother?”_

“Mom, I swear to god,” he lied. “...nothing is going on.”

“Bullshit!” she insisted, tugging at his hat before she slipped off his bed. “I can tell. And take that damn hat off for god’s sake; let your hair breath. You can’t wear that thing to grad.”

Kyle cringed. Ugh. _“Mom,_ seriously…”

“Oh, wait, and one more thing,” she said, picking up a few stray socks from his floor. Kyle was pampered. Sheila still did most of his laundry for him at _17._ “I hear you’ve been hanging around Eric Cartman, a lot.”

The relief _vanished._

Utterly, _vanished._

“Yeah...so?”

“He slept over here on Valentine’s Day, didn’t he?” she asked. “Are you guys _friends,_ now?”

“Are we _what?”_

“Whatever happened to Stanley?” Sheila asked, voice full of concern. “I never see him around here, anymore.”

“What’s wrong with Er— _Cartman?”_

He felt very weird referring to him as “Eric”, but it made sense. Cartman was like...the _old_ version of Eric Cartman; Eric was Cartman with all the parts that Kyle had actually fallen for. His _boyfriend._ Not that he’d tell his _mom_ that; she was under the pretense that Kyle was 100% straight too. He was confused.

“Well...Kyle, you know that boy is troubled,” she hesitated. “I know he’s gotten much less nasty, than when you two were kids, but I know his mother and it’s not a healthy situation.”

“Oh, so what?” Kyle unintentionally snapped. “Because _his_ mother is a wreck, I can’t hang out with him anymore?”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Kyle,” she sighed. “I’m just telling you, it might be safe to... _distance_ yourself a little.”

“Why, mom? ‘Cause he’s _“dangerous”?”_

She blinked. “No, Kyle. Because you’re going to school in New York and he’s gonna remain right here.”

He swallowed. _“So?”_

“So...Kyle...that boy has _obvious_ attachment issues.”

“It’s just _Cartman,”_ Kyle shook his head. “It’s not even...it’s not a big deal, we’re just friends.”

“Kyle...the Cartmans are just...a really unstable family, regardless,” she said, hand clutching the frame of his doorway. “I don’t want you getting tangled up into a mess you can’t get yourself out of. You have such a bright _future_ ahead of you…”

“I won’t,” he insisted, though Kyle was dying to respond to Eric’s texts. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I always will,” Sheila sighed, softly pulling on the handle to the door of her eldest son’s bedroom. “Don’t stay up too late.”

Kyle sighed, speaking in a hushed tone. “No promises.”

She closed the door behind him and the instant it was shut, Kyle called Eric. Maybe it wasn’t safe for him to _go over._

But still longed to hear his voice.

 

* * *

 

Maybe there was something wrong with being this caught-up in all of it.

Maybe there was something wrong with being this in love.

Kyle blamed it on the years of missed opportunities and denial that had all built-up into one huge clusterfuck of feelings. It was like an addiction. Just over two months and he was head over heels, yet it felt like the honeymoon phase was never-ending.

If there _was_ something wrong with being that swept away, Kyle refused to listen to his own reasons for it; the moment the bell rang on Friday afternoon he made his way to Eric’s locker, leaning up against the side.

“Can I come over tonight?” Kyle breathed. Eric was wearing a newer looking hoodie. Dark grey and baggy. He reached into his locker, slipping into his jacket and wrapping Kyle’s scarf around his neck.

_“Tonight?”_ he asked. “Why can’t we go to _your_ house?”

“Because _maybe_ I wanna try things out that are too _risky_ for my parents to overhear,” Kyle hummed. The hallways had mostly cleared out, but he wondered if to the few people left dawdling around, he and Cartman _looked_ like a couple. If they could tell by the way Kyle rested his fist against the lockers or Eric leaned into him. If they could see the way Kyle gazed at his boyfriend and had to resist the urge not to run his fingers through his hair or reach for his hand or even lean in and kiss him. He wondered if he even cared if they got caught. “I mean, only if you feel...comfortable, with that, of course.”

“Duh, of course, I am. I’m not _broken,_ Kyle,” Eric teased, but Kyle felt his own shoulders tense up. “Can’t we go to your house, though?”

“I wasn’t kidding about that,” Kyle hesitated. It wasn’t just because he wanted to do _bad_ things later that night, his conversation with Sheila had given Kyle the impression that it probably wasn’t the best idea to bring Cartman over. “Come _on..._ there’s nothing to do at my house, anyway.”

“XBOX. TV. _Me,”_ Eric cleared his throat, backpack slung over his shoulder. Kyle nearly choked. _“Please?”_

“I don’t _wanna_ play XBOX,” Kyle said, hand sneaking downwards, so he could wrap his finger around the belt loops of Eric’s jeans. “I mean, we can watch TV at your place anyway.”

“Let’s go to the mall.”

“If you’re not ready to have...I mean—”

“—of _course_ I wanna have sex with you,” Eric rolled his eyes. “It’s been my dream since I was like, nine.”

“Okay, _concerning…”_

“—but we _can’t_ go to my house...just...not for a few days…”

“Cart— _Eric,”_ Kyle’s breath steadied and he forced Eric to look him in the eyes. “Don’t make me do this again. You need to _tell_ me what’s wrong if you’re having problems at home.”

“It’s nothing, really…” he sighed. “Let’s just go to the mall...or the movies, again…I don’t wanna cause you any more trouble…”

Was helpless even the right word? Kyle felt helpless, sometimes. He’d been known to throw a fit, along with a few punches more than once and he’d have no problem doing it for Eric if the time came. _When_ the time came. It had to eventually; he had never _seen_ Eric’s future stepfather and he didn’t want to, but if the two ever did come face to face, Kyle didn’t know if he’d be able to hold back. They didn’t often spend time at the Cartmans’ house, but the faded wallpaper and sickeningly empty feeling it gave off upon arrival, paired with Eric’s occasional bruises sent shivers down Kyle’s spine.

“Let me _help_ you.”

“If you really wanted to help me, you’d let it go,” Cartman muttered, hand clutched onto Kyle’s jacket. “Take me to the movies.”

“You know Fridays are too busy for us to go out,” Kyle loosened his arm from Eric’s grip, softly gripping at his hand. He was certain the hallway was clear now. He didn’t really care if a few strangers at school saw them, but Stan and his football friends liked going out with their girlfriends for movie nights on Fridays and despite the mall’s boom of success over the past few years, it was still just too risky.

“I thought we were over that.”

_“Stan,”_ Kyle cleared his throat. “I’m worried about seeing _Stan.”_

_“Fine,”_ Eric rolled his eyes. _“Kenny_ doesn’t think Stan would care.”

“You talk to Kenny a lot, lately?” Kyle snapped. There came the jealousy again. There was a dangerous amount of jealousy between Kyle and Cartman; especially leading up to their relationship. It should have been gone now that they were together, but both were the type to _also_ hold grudges. And today, it was Kyle’s turn.

“He’s my best friend, Kyle. Talk to _Stan_ a lot, lately?”

_Ouch._ “...no.”

“Yeah,” Eric slammed his locker shut. “And yet, _apparently,_ we’re hiding our entire _relationship_ from everyone because of him.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying,” Kyle snapped again, tugging again at Eric’s arm, so he could take his hands back in his. He didn’t want him to walk away, angry. He didn’t like watching him walk away, angry. He liked watching Eric come and never watching Eric go; not even when they parted after kissing and making-up, but never after _fighting._ Sometimes this felt like a repeat, of a sitcom he’d been watching over and over again. Where was the happy ending? Was there some sort of _resolution?_ What time would it air; he’d record it and replay it over and over again if he could, but instead it was the same damn episode over and over again; yet he was too obsessed to change the channel because the good scenes were so _good._ “I care _so much_ about you. Let’s not have this argument _again.”_

_“Fine,”_ Eric agreed. “But I don’t wanna hang out tonight.”

“That’s alright,” Kyle said, his throat dry. “I...I’ll miss you.”

“Goodbye, Kyle.”

Everything about them just tasted bittersweet.

 

* * *

 

The next evening, Kyle’s parents were still staying home and so he couldn’t invite Eric over and he felt more and more miserable. They hadn’t quite recovered from their fight, there was a party but Kyle didn’t give a shit about anyone _attending_ said-party and he’d already finished off his homework the night previous. He remained in bed, eyes focused on the ceiling above him, wondering where in the fuck he’d gone wrong and what he’s _said_ wrong and what he could have done better, so he _wasn’t_ in the middle of a fight with, yes — his _boyfriend_ — and a totally _different_ fight, with his _best_ friend. What were he and Stan even fighting about? Kyle couldn’t pinpoint it, nowadays...Stan thought he was neglecting their friendship, _whatever._ That was his own problem. Stan was an insecure person and Kyle had other things to worry about. _Better_ things to worry about. Eric _Cartman,_ for example, was at the top of that list.

“Kyle? What are you moping about?”

He hadn’t even noticed his bedroom door was opened a crack.

_“Mom,”_ Kyle said, flipping over on his side. “Nothing,” he lied. “What’s up?”

“I know it’s Saturday night and you probably have plans, but could you run to the store and grab a few groceries for me, if you don’t mind?” she sighed. “I have to go to book club in half an hour.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he said, crawling off the side of his bed. He’d just been lazing around in boxers and a hoodie all day. At least it was an excuse to put on a pair of fucking pants and get out of the house. _Something_ to take his mind off of Eric and Stan and Eric Cartman and Stan Marsh in relation to each other. And _Eric Cartman and Kenny McCormick,_ if he was being honest with anyone that day, which he wasn’t — himself, included. “Just text me the grocery list.”

“You’re one of my _favourite_ sons,” she said, pinching at his check. “Put on pants.”

“You only _have_ two sons,” Kyle mumbled, going back into his laundry hamper for a pair of jeans.

“Oh, Kyle, those haven’t been washed yet,” Sheila sighed. “You were supposed to drop them off in the laundry room for me.”

“I forgot.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Her eyebrows wrinkled together with worry. “You’re usually so organized.”

“I’m fine, _really,”_ he sighed. “Really, Mom.”

“I know about...the B.”

_‘B’ for ‘Boyfriend’?_

“It’s...I can explain—”

“It’s just one B, Kyle, god,” Sheila chuckled. “I’m not worried about your acceptance.”

Oh, right. He _had_ gotten a B on his last pre-cal assignment. But it was only a quiz. God, he hadn’t even _thought_ about that. Kyle’s paranoia was at an all-time high. It wasn’t just _Stan_ he couldn’t tell. It was his entire _family,_ too. “Oh...yeah, me neither.”

“Good boy,” she said, snatching the “dirty” jeans, right out of Kyle’s hands. “Now, put on a clean pair of pants, for god’s sake.”

And he did. He threw on a pair of clean jeans and a clean hoodie and even though he just ended up throwing his ushanka on in the end, he brushed his hair too. The length loosened the weight of his curls, nowadays. Sometimes it got in his eyes, but god was it an improvement from before. Kyle slipped into his jacket and made his way to the market. It was that time of year when the snow started melting into dark grey and brown mush and he didn’t have to blow into his hands for warmth and spring was coming, but not soon enough. God, fuck Colorado.

He trudged along the aisles, picking products off the shelf and tossing them back into the cart. It was only when he made it to aisle 7, did Kyle find himself hit with a wave of what felt like deja vu, that he recognized as an actual memory — that evening back in late August...or was it early September? — when he’d run into Cartman, on the phone with Liane.

_“But you said you’d be home!”_

So much had changed since then, and yet, it felt like nothing ever had.

Especially the moment he actually _saw_ her.

Liane Cartman was someone he’d grown up around. He’d known her son since they were practically still potty-training and now they were _so_ much more, but seeing Liane Cartman nowadays was a rare occurrence. She carried herself along, with something of a beautiful sadness; you could tell she’d been pretty in her youth and she was still fairly young compared to the other mothers in town, but she looked worn out and _sad._ She and Kenny’s mom were similar that way — beaten down by drugs, living paycheck to paycheck; things someone like Kyle could never relate to. She was someone he had always looked down upon, now for more reasons than just her status and reputation.

“Ms. Cartman?”

She was wearing a coat, Kyle had sworn she’d been wearing since they were kids. There was smudged makeup under her eyes and her cart was full of beer and TV dinners. He wondered if someday, that’d be Cartman.

The moment she heard Kyle, she lifted her head from where she’d been resting it against her hand and gave him a vague smile. “Oh! Hello, Kyle.”

“How...are you?” he asked, tentatively.

“I’m alright,” she grinned, a shaky breath escaping her lips. “Grocery shopping for your mother?”

“Yeah…” he said, staring at her cart. She threw in a box of sugary cereal. Kyle wondered if that was for Cartman.

“That’s for Eric,” she laughed softly. It was as if she’d read his damn mind. Or maybe just caught him staring. “He never grew out of being a child. Still my big baby. He loves cereal…”

“I know,” Kyle bit his lip. His heart pounded. They’d had an entire discussion about healthy breakfast versus sugary cereal, and toaster waffles, one time on a mall-date, strolling through Target. Eric insisted sugary cereal was “good” for you, because “chemicals are found in nature, making them natural compounds”. Kyle now understood why he’d failed chemistry, in the eleventh grade. But if anything, his bizarrely selective ignorance only added to his charm. And Kyle was almost 100% certain he’d been full of shit anyway.

_“Hmm?”_

He’d forgotten where he was. _“Huh?”_

“Did you say something?”

“No, sorry,” Kyle sighed. He didn’t even think before selecting his next words: “Are you ever home anymore?”

Liane blinked, eyebrows raised in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“Are you ever home?” Kyle cleared his throat. “For Er— _Cartman,_ I mean.”

“Oh, I try to be,” she smiled, wearily. “But being a single mother is hard...not that I’ll be single for much longer, but _oh…”_

She’s spaced out. Kyle cleared his throat again. _“Oh?”_

“I’ll be so happy for Eric to finally have a father,” she sighed, rubbing her eyes. “He’s always needed someone like that...someone to look-out for him...a guardian angel, maybe…”

He swallowed.

“Someone better than me, I guess,” she laughed sadly. “Say ‘hi’ to your parents for me, Kyle. I have to make a phone call.”

He nodded.

Liane paused, before pushing her cart along. “You know...don’t tell Eric I said this, but I think he always had a little crush on you...I could be wrong, though. God forbid his stepfather hear me say something like that, but…” she shrugged with a soft sigh and a lilting giggle. “I have to go make that phone call. Nice seeing you again, Kyle.”

“Oh...I understand,” he hesitated. “Bye, Ms. Cartman.”

And, so there it was.

Kyle just hoped she hadn’t seen his cheeks just turn five shaders darker.

He watched as Liane turned her cart around into aisle 6 and unfortunately he could immediately tell, he was hearing the opposite end of a phone call he’d already heard, months before.

_“You told me, you were coming home!”_

“You know Mommy gets busy…there’s money in an envelope, tucked under my pillow.”

_“You really think you’re doing me a favour?”_

“Eric, _please,_ I’m tired as is.”

_“That’s not fair!”_

“I need to go back to Bill’s tonight.”

_“I’m your son!”_

“I’ll be staying the night in Denver, sweetie. That’s only an hour and a half away.”

_“I’m your son!”_

“You’ll be _fine.”_

_“I’m your son.”_

_“Kyle!”_ Oh, thank god. He didn’t know what the chances of running into two people he knew in one evening were, but he welcomed the distraction.

It was _Stan._

_“Kyle!”_ he waved his “best friend” down, from the opposite end of the aisle. Stan was carrying what looked like party snacks, but paired with a case of sodas. So, _not_ for an actual party. Probably some sort of study session. Stan looked uncharacteristically happy to see him, but Kyle was glad to see Stan nonetheless. “Hey, dude!”

“What’s up?” Kyle asked as Stan made his way over to his cart.

“We’re doing a study group thing,”  Stan shrugged. “Wendy’s idea. Me, Butters...Craig, I think, so then Tweek...and then Token, Clyde and Jimmy.”

“I didn’t know you were hanging out with Craig’s friends, nowadays,” Kyle mumbled. “Sounds like fun, man.”

“Not really. I mean, we’re studying,” Stan breezed. “Craig is cool.”

“I thought he hated us.”

“In elementary school, Kyle,” Stan snorted. “People change.”

There was still weirdness between them. This was _weird._ “Yeah, I...guess.”

“You should know,” Stan muttered. “You know, between you and _Car—”_

“—I have to go,” Kyle pushed his cart in the other direction, shaking his head. “I’ll see you around, Stan.”

“Kyle, wait,” he said, grabbing him by the shoulder. Stan was an inch shorter than Kyle, but football trainer sometimes made him a bit stronger, even if Kyle had kicked his ass in the past during the few fights they’d had. “I wasn’t trying to start an argument.”

“Me and Cartman have always hung out together, Stan. We all grew-up together,” Kyle snapped.

“That’s not what I meant!” Stan insisted. “I just just...trying to make a _point.”_

_“Oh,”_ Kyle hesitated. “I...I get it.”

“Look, dude,” Stan sighed. “I guess...you know, we’re all gonna graduate in a few months and things have been kinda weird lately, so I’m trying to make it up to you.”

“Stan, it’s oka—”

“Come over, tonight?” he asked. “It’ll be nice. It’s just a really small study group, and everyone gets along really well, and...I mean, to be honest, you’re a better tutor than Wendy, so…”

It wasn’t like Stan lived _far_ from Kyle. They were neighbours. All he had to do was drop off some dishes and walk over to the Marshs’ and it would be okay again. And Kyle _wanted_ some more normalcy. He wanted to keep falling in deeper with Eric and keep cracking bad inside jokes again, with Stan and to get into Columbia and then everything would be okay again. And this was Step 1.

He smiled. “Yeah, dude...that sounds like fun.”

“Great!” said Stan, playfully punching Kyle in the shoulder. “So, what kinda snacks do you want? My mom gave us money, once she found out it’s for a study group.”

“Uhhh, anything is cool,” Kyle grinned. “I just have to finish up shopping and then drop off all this shit at home.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Stan enthused. Kyle rarely saw him this excited about _anything._ “Hey, did I tell you, I actually got accep—”

Kyle’s phone buzzed. It buzzed all the time, but this was a distinct buzz, one he’d had to go into his settings and contacts to change. “One second, Stan,” he muttered. “I’ve gotta check this.”

Stan’s face fell a bit, but he smiled. “Okay. No problem, dude.”

 

**Eric Cartman  
** **7:24 PM  
** i don’t wanna fight anymore

 

“As I was _saying_ I’m…”

 

**Eric Cartman  
** **7:24 PM  
** you’re my whole world

 

His _whole_ world. His _whole,_ entire world.

In _love._

 

**Eric Cartman  
** **7:24 PM  
** come over tonight  
i miss u  
and nobodys home

 

“So, anyway, I know you’re going to Columbia, but guess—”

“—I can’t come, anymore,” Kyle interrupted.

“What?” Stan asked, face crumpling. “But...dude, I thought—”

“—something came up,” Kyle lied. “My mom needs me to run a few more errands and it’ll take too long.”

“We’ll be studying for hours,” Stan insisted. “You can come later.”

“I really can’t, Stan,” Kyle shrugged. “It’s for my parents, so...y’know, duty calls.”

Stan smiled sadly, nodding his head along. “No, it’s fine. I get it.”

“Alright, I better get to the check-out line,” Kyle waved, pushing his cart around the other side of the aisle. “See you Monday, dude.”

_“Bye.”_

And Kyle left him standing alone in aisle 7 and didn’t think about Stan once more that night.

 

* * *

 

“Are you _ever_ going to tell me what’s going on with your mom?”

Holed up, in Eric Cartman’s bed. The lights were all off and the groceries were back at Kyle’s house and they didn’t have sex because Eric was clearly too disheartened and Kyle wanted whatever he wanted. The window was open a crack and Kyle could hear the sounds of the highway, not too far in the distance and it made him feel like he was home; home tucked into bed with Eric _Cartman,_ for fuck’s sake. The little suburbs that bordered on the edge of South Park were small enough, that you could hear the highway from anyone’s house on a silent evening like this one. And all evenings were silent, all were quiet and the sun melted into the horizons as it slipped between the peaks of the distant mountains and everything felt hazy and Kyle could feel Eric’s heartbeat from where he was propped up again his chest. Loud and steady, like a metronome. He could lie like this forever. The instant he’d received those texts, he knew where he had to be.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Eric sighed, dragging a finger across Kyle’s chest. He was wearing an old graphic t-shirt that admittedly hadn’t been through the wash yet, but it smelled like Kyle and Eric _really_ liked Kyle. “Fuck her.”

“No, really,” Kyle said, running his hands through Eric’s hair. “You know, I saw her when I was grocery shopping earlier.”

They hadn’t discussed anything family or fight-related, until now. It was late and Kyle lied to his mother and said he was over at Stan’s and the moment he showed up at Eric’s doorstep, the two were locked back into another overwhelming kiss. God, did Kyle love kissing him. He hadn’t remembered enjoying kissing his ex-girlfriends that much. Maybe that made things certain, this was real.

_“Aren’t we still fighting?”_ Kyle had asked, arms interlocked with Eric’s.

_“I forgot what we were even fighting about.”_

_“Oh, please,”_ Kyle rolled his eyes. _“You hold the most grudges of_ anyone _I know.”_

_“Right after_ you,” Eric had tugged down on the sides of Kyle’s ushanka, pulling him back in for another round. Oh, yeah...they never got tired of this...neither _ever_ got tired of this...they just settled into the sofa and Kyle didn’t pay any attention to the lack of lumbar support in the Cartmans’ couch or the lack of anything remotely interesting on television, it was just nice to be cuddled up and not fighting for once and once it got really late, neither wanted to be apart and Cartman just wanted him to stay the night.

“I _knew_ she was in town,” Eric mumbled, under his breath. He shifted around onto his side, back facing Kyle, whose face darkened at the sudden coldness.

“Hey, _I’m_ not the one who did something wrong,” he groaned.

“I know,” Cartman let out of shaky breath of air. “I just...I’m used to it by now, Kyle.”

“Used to _what?”_ Kyle asked, rubbing his shoulder. He was wearing the hoodie he’d been given for Valentine’s Day and it fit just right. “Your mom leaving?”

“Yeah, duh, I mean...not just my mom leaving. _Everyone,”_ he sighed. “That’s why I asked you to stay the night.”

_“What?”_ Kyle teased, slipping his arms around Eric’s waist. “My company alone isn’t reason enough?”

He felt Eric’s hands clutch at his own and his body was leaned up against Kyle’s chest. He smelled faintly of laundry detergent and that same shampoo he always used. Kyle couldn’t even remember which girl he dated, that used the same kind. Who _cared?_ It was irrelevant. Eric let go, and flipped back over so the two were face to face again.

“Kyle.”

_“Yeah?”_

“Do you seriously still sleep in that fucking hat?”

“Yeah,” said Kyle, hand floating to the side of Eric’s cheek. Eric’s face turned a deep shade of pink, noticeable even in the _dark_ and Kyle’s heart pounded a little bit faster. “You seriously still write in a fucking diary?”

“It’s a _journal,”_ Cartman insisted, chortling. “You bought it for me, asshole.”

_“Yeah…”_ Kyle sighed. “But only ‘cause you were being a pain in the dick.”

Eric inched in closer and Kyle pulled his face right up to his; their lips locking again and the world around them growing more and more fuzzy. The perfect kiss made you feel stupid and intoxicated and that was everything the two felt when they locked lips. _Stupid_ perfect.

“Don’t leave me,” Eric choked on his breath when they pulled apart again. “You’re gonna stay, right? Please, Kyle, don’t fucking leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you promise?” he bit his lip. “I’m used to it.”

“I’ve known you since we were children and I’m still here, Car— _Eric…”_ he said, squeezing his boyfriend’s hands in reassurance. “I’m not going _anywhere.”_

They fell asleep by sunrise.

 

* * *

 

Kyle was reminded of Eric’s sugary breakfast habits, when they arose the next day, early into the afternoon. Sheila had called him three times and he texted her back once just to reassure her that he hadn’t, in fact, died, but was out and about with the other guys and she had nothing to worry about. Which was, of course, a lie. But sometimes lying was better than the alternative. There was never much food in Cartman’s house anymore, so they ate a lazy combo of breakfast and lunch, that Kyle refused to call “brunch”, especially at three in the afternoon, when they had finally gotten around to eating.

At 6 PM, Cartman actually wanted to go out and get dinner and Kyle had no problem with it, so long as they _walked_ to Denny’s — Sheila already thought he was out with Stan and company, so it would kind of be an impossible task to swing by and snag his car. Besides, it only offered up more quality time.

It was just before sunset and at that time of year, the sky was a softened blend of yellows and pinks, with dark purple clouds hanging scattered above in the atmosphere, as the sun floated back down towards the horizon. It wasn’t too warm; the ground was melty, but it was still a bit cold enough for Eric to have an excuse to cuddle up and clingy to Kyle’s arm...though he wouldn’t object regardless. One of Kyle’s favourite things to do those days was just spend casual time with his boyfriend. Yes, _boyfriend..._ the weirdness was slowly, but surely, beginning to wear off from the term. They went for a long walk that evening; strolling along down the more recent suburban development that had been built in years previous, doing nothing but talking about things that literally didn’t matter.

_“Family Guy_ is still a terrible fucking show, Kyle.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Yes, it totally is.”

“I barely watch it nowadays, anyway,” Kyle shrugged. “There’s this great new documentary on Hulu, and—”

“—Kyle, please stop talking.”

_“‘Please’?”_ Kyle grinned. “Did _Eric Cartman_ just ask me to do something, _politely?”_

“I thought that’s why you were dating me, now,” Eric rolled his eyes. “Because I’m better? Because I’ve... _changed…”_

“Don’t do this,” Kyle teased. He unlinked his arm from where Cartman was clutching on and instead wrapped it around his shoulder. “You’re...you are the same person you always were, you’ve just improved, as a person. And I always knew you were capable of it, _Eric._ You don’t even know how…”

“How _what?”_ Eric laughed softly. They continued down the street, walking at a slow and steady pace. They must have looked intoxicated.

“How proud of you, I am,” Kyle swallowed. “I know we’ve had more ups and downs, than...than _any_ other couple, way before anything actually _happened,_ but I’m fully invested and I’ve always... _always,_ held out hope for you...I’m just glad I was right.”

Kyle wrapped his arm around, all the way, pulling Eric in to meet his lips again. Eric took Kyle’s face in his hands and kissed him back, the two leaned up against a car parked outside of someone’s house. There was that sound of the highway in the distance and a few voices echoing out from the soccer field and park, on the other side of the street and just for one moment, Kyle was uncertain as to why he’d ever want to pick all of the urban noise and absurdity of New York City over suburban bliss and fluffy clouds and soft kissing.

_“Wow,”_ Eric blinked, when they pulled apart. “Right out here in public too.”

Kyle shrugged, throwing his arm back over his boyfriend’s shoulder. He gestured towards the field with a head tilt, where a loud group of guys were playing touch football. “Who cares?”

When the two had finally made it back around to their own street, they’d rotated back to Eric clinging to Kyle’s arm once again. The last few days had stirred up quite a few memories for him; the phone call and the grocery store; he suddenly felt reminiscent of Halloween night, too, that _mindblowing_ night, when they’d escaped to Denver and toilet-papered his sort-of stepfather’s house and walked home with Cartman clinging to his arm, and then—

“What _is_ that?”

“What is _what?”_

“My dad’s car,” Kyle snapped, as his house came into view. Eric let go of his arm, letting Kyle dash over to the side of the vehicle, inspecting it. “All over my dad’s fucking car, _Cartman,_ someone fucked with our cars again.”

“What do you mean?” Eric sputtered. “Ky- _le!”_

This time it was worse. The last _“GET OUT”_ message in his car had read like something from a vindictive ex-girlfriend. Shit, he had honestly written it off as a mistake the first time or a Halloween prank, but this was so specific and so intentionally cruel and there was no error this time, this was a message specifically left for the only Jewish family in town.

_“Kyle…”_

_“Seriously?!”_ he fumed. In permanent fucking marker, across the hood of his father’s car, _“BACK OFF —”_ followed by an obscenity he’d only heard about _once_ in his life. Twice, actually and the second had been a typo of “Kyle”, from his own cousin; _this_ was something he didn’t ever think he’d hear again. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me?”

“I didn’t write tha—”

“I know you didn’t, if you tried pulling shit like this on me, I’d never fucking speak to you again,” Kyle sputtered. “This is _serious.”_

_“Kyle,”_ Eric whined. “You know my mom raised me that way, she’s insane, Kyle, I’d never do anything like that, not again, I lo—”

“I _know,”_ Kyle snapped. “I _know_ you didn’t do it, stop defending yourself!”

“Kyle, I’m—”

He wasn’t mad at Cartman. He knew Liane had been, a...less than _progressive_ parent when they were much younger; she was more than just rough around the edges. And he knew that Cartman was different, Eric was different and better and all the bad parts of him had faded away, into something new. He wasn’t the one to be blamed for this.

But his dad would never see it that way. He knew if they wanted to play “pin the blame” on anyone, it would instantaneously fall on _Cartman._ Just another fucking obstacle along the way. He ran a hand across his forehead; a nervous habit that nothing to help him _actually_ cope, _god,_ could _nothing_ ever go right for them?

_“Kyle,”_ Eric said, carefully reapproaching his boyfriend. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are,” Kyle said. He didn’t shy away from Eric’s touch. He let him run his hands down the length from the elbow of his jacket, down to his gloved hands, softly lacing their fingers together.

“I’m...I’m not the same person I was when we were children.”

And with Eric’s eyes locked deeply into his own, Kyle felt his heart slow down and the world felt less noisy and his face softened. For _him._ His face softened, feeling the closeness from _him._

Kenny thought Eric Cartman was dangerous.

Sheila thought he was unstable.

Gerald wanted nothing to fucking _do_ with the Cartmans.

But Kyle knew him better than that.

“I _know_ you’re not,” Kyle promised. “You’re so much... _better.”_

Eric’s smiled vaguely, the look fading from his face, as he came to rest against Kyle’s chest. _“Yeah.”_

The sounds of the highway and distant cheers of the football players faded into the distance. Instead, the sound of Kyle’s own heartbeat, throbbing against his chest became the only thing he could hear any more, with Eric’s body leaned up and tucked into his arms.

Maybe it wasn’t a big deal.

Maybe it was all a joke.

Maybe all the paranoia he’d accumulated over the last few months or so, was unwarranted.

Kyle needed another cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry if the pacing in this chapter is really strange...? ): yeah. anyway, i'm rly stoked bc the next chapter and then on is gonna rly start picking up and getting into the dramatic, dark and juuuuuuuicy stuff and hoo boy. drama is my forte, so...roll w me


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my sincerest apologies to the anon I told this update would be posted w/in "1.5-2hrs"...I think that was about 6 hours ago. what can I say, my overly dramatic, self-serving writing style makes up for my poor time management skills (...which, just the record, is also why this is being uploaded...now...time isn't real btw).
> 
> this is...the most self-indulgent thing I've written in a long-time. there are diary entries I wrote as a 16 y/o that are less dramatic than this. not that I was 16 terribly long ago, but yanno. jfc.
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

There are a few different stages when it comes to falling in love. At first, it’s all butterflies and nerves; all the giddiness and anticipation that comes along with the prospect even _seeing_ your crush, daydreams of hand-holding and first dates leading into first kisses, and so much more...the _good_ type of nausea. A _crush._ A crush is something sweet and simple and wonderful. Something oddly innocent of nature, something fun.

Once something becomes real, it evolves further into passion; depending on the outcome it can result into something closer resembling true _love,_ and if it goes poorly you risk being left with feelings of jealousy, bitterness, _loneliness_ and sometimes even _hatred._ Not _hatred_ at its purest form, but hatred out of resentment. A lack of reciprocation, i.e. unrequited love, the very worst kind of love.

And then there was finality: when you’ve loved someone for so long, that it becomes an everlasting feeling. When you’ve loved someone for so long that it just lasts, never lingers, but its effects remain engraved into one’s heart. Usually, something that comes with a long-term relationship, or marriage. Sometimes if you’re unlucky, it lasts regardless of the turnout. It’s like a big “fuck you”; a slap in the face from your own feelings. A literal curse.

Eric Cartman had been through every stage with Kyle, even years before their relationship.

The first stage was a crush. It didn’t _start_ as a crush. Not by _far._ In the third grade, Cartman had at least made an effort to be friends with Stan and Kyle. He and Kenny typically got along regardless, but it was Stan and Kyle whose approval he wanted; Kyle’s more so if he were to be completely honest. Stan had no problem laughing along with Kyle’s fat jokes. Sometimes, he questioned Kyle on his behaviour, but not that often. Kyle was the real problem, however. He was violent, angry and worst of all, he was _smart._ And he was _cocky_ about it, too. Kyle was an asshole and no matter what Cartman did, he would never, _could_ never win over his approval.

He remembered that time they had a town-wide spelling bee, and Kyle had softened up for Rebecca Cotswold. _Rebecca Cotswold_ of all people; though these days, he’d seen her around school with her own friends and knew she was an AP-student, but back in the day, she’d been a shy, timid, little ball of nerves. Kyle was vicious, shameless, rude and even vulgar. The only thing they had in common was academics. She was his first crush. The more Cartman started fixating on it, the more irritated he became. Had he not made an attempt to be sweet to Kyle? To appeal to Kyle’s better nature? Sure, he’d flown off the handle more than once, but at least he’d _tried._ He started to resent him.

Then, as they progressed into the fourth grade, Kyle _transformed._ He never stopped being blunt, but he turned self-righteous and Cartman _hated_ him for it. Now, he’d become the bad guy. He was _always_ the bad guy. Kyle _made_ him into the bad guy. It wasn’t fair.

If only he hadn’t hugged him.

If only he wasn’t also the _first,_ maybe the _only_ person to show him any real form of emotional support...something like _love._

Maybe not love, but something a lot like it.

_Fuck_ Kyle.

So, that started the crush and the fighting. God, Cartman loved Kyle’s attention, but he only knew how to retrieve it negatively. Negative attention was better than _no_ attention, especially because Kyle was stupid enough to engage with him any time he was challenged. Cartman fucking hated Kyle and his stuck-up, self-righteous, _bullshit,_ his spoiled, upper middle class family; hated that was he was only white trash and maybe Liane had improved since then but she was homophobic and antisemitic and oh my god, _why,_ god, _why,_ had he had to go and fall for a _boy?_ A _Jewish_ boy? One out of two of the _only_ Jewish boys in town, and the very person who loathed him the most? Eric Cartman had been _born_ broken and it was just like him in his self-hating, _cursed_ nature to fall for Kyle _fucking_ Broflovski.

He fucking hated Kyle.

But it lasted. God, did he ever try to deny it, but by fourth grade, he had an obvious crush and it only got worse. Kyle, thankfully, seemed completely clueless; they continued fighting, sometimes getting oddly defensive of each other...Kyle would deny it if asked, but Cartman had no problem admitting that _maybe..._ just, _maybe..._ they’d shared an unintentionally romantic moment, time from time...even if many _were_ under false pretenses, every joke is half true and for Cartman, it was at 100%. Once he’d fucked up really badly and tried kissing Kyle; to be fair he couldn’t control his own actions in the moment and was behaving a little _too_ honestly. When his walls broke down, Cartman was unexposed and he became _vulnerable._ He was glad that a rushed, attempt at a kiss, was the only thing he’d tried with Kyle...and that he was too shocked to even recall... _probably…_

Fuck Kyle.

But his feelings only stuck and got stronger. Heidi and him hadn’t worked out. He’d fucked her over. He and Kyle both, in a lot of ways; they should have known it was all about _them_ and she’d been caught in the middle. Kyle was the only person who could tolerate him. Kyle was his safety net. Kyle wasn’t vulnerable or giving enough to let himself be gaslighted by Cartman. He wasn’t completely enamoured with Cartman like Heidi had been.

God, fuck Kyle.

So the feelings remained. They remained strong and overwhelming and he started to notice a pattern in himself; his journal entries went from doodles of Kyle fucking himself, to Kyle fucking himself with a border or hearts, to long entries detailing his annoyance with Kyle to anything he could possibly think of to jot down about Kyle, to just _Kyle_...with a border of hearts around the edges of every lined page, of every fucking journal, from age 10 to 17.

He was in love.

He was.

He _loved_ Kyle, loved loved _loved, “love”,_ wasn’t enough. _“Love”_ couldn’t even _begin_ to describe the way Eric Cartman felt for Kyle Broflovski. It didn’t even begin to _detail,_ the way he felt for Kyle. He wanted to scream and fight and throw a fucking tantrum; he felt so imprisoned by his feelings for Kyle. He wanted to kick and aimlessly throw punches and lunge at him for making him feel that way. He wanted him to pack up and leave forever and never come back; he wanted Kyle gone forever, to never return, to stay out of his life. And he wanted to be pressed up against a wall, lips locked with his and he wanted to be intertwined and fall asleep in his arms, _fuck,_ he wanted the possibility of an ending, where someone as terrible and horrible and irredeemably awful and fucked up, someone from a broken home with no prospects, could end up with someone like _Kyle._ He needed Kyle, he _breathed_ Kyle...he just never thought he’d ever get as far as he’d come.

And then came the third phase, of solidification. When infatuation, becomes _permanency._

Cartman knew Kyle had a poor father. It was like he’d said, that time way back at Stark’s Pond, after Kyle had “rescued” him, twice...Kyle had a _father,_ but he didn’t have a _good_ father. He knew their relationship was severed. Kyle was strong; he was well-spoken and not someone Cartman was used to seeing at his very worst. It happened back in the tenth grade.

There was some sort of academic competition at school. Cartman didn’t know what for or what it was about. He didn’t care. But he _did_ have detention that night and a mother who had neglected to pick him up from school and it was cold and late in the dead of winter and so he stayed behind and waited, waltzing around the school aimlessly as he waited upon her arrival.

“Are you _kidding_ me? Are you fucking _kidding_ me, right now?”

As he was approaching the auditorium, he heard the argument. He had only heard the first person’s voice from afar and it was too quiet to recognize, but the second voice was familiar. The nasal pitch, condescending tone, it all sounded too familiar. Even if it hadn’t been familiar, Cartman would snoop in on the conversation. He was a drama-hound.

“You _humiliated_ me.”

The first voice, now, _that_ voice he recognized, but something was off. It was a voice he typically recognized as confident and loud, aggressive, even. This voice was wavering. It was too quiet and hesitant and all wrong.

“Oh, grow-up, _Kyle,”_ the second voice snarled. “You’re acting like a child.”

_Kyle. That was Kyle?_

_“I’m_ not the one harassing _children.”_

“I’m doing you a favour.”

“No, you’re not! You’re not! You’re not supposed to _heckle_ people at an academic _decathlon!”_ Cartman stuck close to the wall behind them, thankful that he was protected by the shadows of the hallway. Kyle would kick his fucking _ass_ if he knew he was listening in on this.

“You kids nowadays are far too sheltered.”

“You got me banned from the tournament!”

“It’s just a stupid, fucking, high school spelling bee, Kyle.”

“No, it’s not! Because my marks actually fucking matter to me!” his voice sounded dry and exasperated. “And now, I’m gonna have a dent in my transcripts, and a permanent ban, and—”

“—it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“It matters to _me!_ You know how much this matters to me and you don’t ev—”

“—Kyle, you think you’re getting into an Ivy League school, with _South Park High School,_ on your transcripts?”

Pause.

Kyle’s voice shook.

_“What?”_

“—Because you’re not,” Gerald’s voice was even, but his words were cruel. “If you think you’re gonna make it into an Ivy League school, with some hick, _redneck_ town high school on your transcripts, you’re even more privileged and delusional, than I _thought.”_

“What are you _talking_ about?” Kyle’s voice wavered. “You’ve always encouraged me, you told me I was—”

“—oh, you’ll make it. You’ll go on to do _great_ things, Kyle, just like your father. But I want you to know _one_ thing, and you’d better never forget this: everything you have, you owe to _me.”_

“...I—”

“Your Ivy League connections, are from me. All those great marks you get, you can thank _me_ for those, too. That new renovation, the TV in your room, the fucking _clothing_ off your _back, Kyle,_ it’s all because of _me._ Everything you have, you owe to _me._ Remember that the next time you decide to mouth off to your own fucking father. Without me, you’d be stuck in this white trash, WASP-infested town, for the rest of your goddamn life. Any success you have, you can accredit to _me.”_

Silence.

“I just...I just—”

“You’re acting like a little pussy,” he snarled. “Get over it. Grow up.”

Silence.

“I’m gonna get the car started. If you’d still _care_ to join us for dinner, we’re leaving in five minutes. Come or don’t.”

More silence.

Cartman ducked around further. By that point in time, he was already very aware of his crush on Kyle, _hoo boy,_ but he was still confused and in denial and yes, he was a snoopy, _snoopy_ little asshole even with therapy and self-improvement galore, but something about this felt very, very _wrong._ He shouldn’t have heard that conversation. He didn’t like hearing Kyle sound so... _vulnerable._

He tried turning down the hallway.

He turned back.

He did something very un-Eric Cartman-like, for the time.

_“Kyle?”_

He was dressed up for the occasion; Kyle wore a pair of slacks and a sweater and he wasn’t wearing that godforsaken ushanka for once, though it was clutched in his right hand, as he leaned up against the wall, face resting in his hands. Sure, he saw Kyle daily, and sure he thought Kyle was still at his very prime in a hoodie and jeans... _with_ ushanka, but this was a _treat._ Even if Kyle didn’t like him and he didn’t want to like Kyle and god, it was _so_ complex…

But Kyle didn’t look like Kyle, for reasons beyond that; Cartman wasn’t used to seeing him look so... _vulnerable._ Even when Kyle was upset, he typically reacted violently, angrily, but now he just looked defeated. Hurt and sad. He’d only ever seen that look on him a few times as kids and _never_ into their teens. It just wasn’t right.

Kyle shifted his view over onto Cartman. He was keeping a safe distance because he knew that Kyle would and could lash out at any moment, but for whatever reason he found himself feeling _bad_ for him. He didn’t have a crush...he tried _reminding_ himself, he _didn’t_ have a crush…

“Kyle, I—”

“—what the _fuck_ do you want, Cartman?” Kyle snapped, eyes narrowing in his direction. He pulled his ushanka back over his head, red hair momentarily covering his eyes.

He was so... _aggravatingly_ handsome…

“Uh, relax, _bro,”_ he snorted. “I was just going to _ask_ you if you’re _okay.”_

_“Don’t,”_ Kyle glared. He was trying to hide his face, but Cartman watched as he swiped at his eyes, with the back of his sweater. “I don’t have time for your _bullshit_ today.”

“Kyle, are you _crying?”_

He’d never seen Kyle’s disposition change so quickly, but it did. He grabbed Cartman’s hoodie, pulling him up to his face, fury evident in his eyes. “I’m not fucking _crying,_ Cartman, _don’t_ ever intrude on _my_ conversations, ever again, or so _help_ me, I will—”

“—I wasn’t intruding!” Cartman insisted. “I was just walking by and I heard arguing, and I—”

“Oh, you _heard_ arguing, so the logical thing was to _intrude_ in on it?” Kyle seethed. “What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?”

“Kyle, stop!” Cartman said, trying to pull away. “Kyle, stop, okay, I’m not your dad!”

Kyle scoffed. “And what the _fuck_ is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“I’m not the one you’re fucking _mad_ at!” Cartman glared, trying again to pull out of Kyle’s grasp. “Let _go!”_

And he did. Kyle let go of his tight grip around Cartman’s hoodie, letting out a shaky sigh. Cartman recognized that look. He knew Kyle was trying his very best not to cry and who could blame him? Gerald Broflovski did everything for his eldest son, except show him any basic amount of compassion and respect and that ruined it for Kyle. Knowing that his father _still_ only viewed him as a “pussy”. It was humiliating. He deserved so much better.

So then, Cartman did something risky. Something he’d never thought to do before, but he owed it to Kyle, because Kyle did it time and time again, no matter how aggressive he got. Cartman wrapped his arms around Kyle.

And Kyle let him.

His body shook softly. Kyle’s crying was never a production, either. He was too scared to cry, to display public emotion, but Cartman felt his arms tighten around him. They’d cried together, Kyle had allowed him to cry on his own shoulder and now he did the same thing for Kyle. It was a vicious cycle, that ironically, wasn’t that _vicious._

“You’re _way_ smarter than your dad,” Cartman spoke softly, for once. He hadn’t completely softened up yet, at 15. This was something new.

_“Really?”_ Kyle sniffled.

“Yeah,” Cartman rolled his eyes. “Not that it’s hard to be. That guy’s an asshole.”

Kyle laughed. “Oh, shut up.”

“Seriously, Kyle, that guy’s a pussy. Isn’t he a literal _cyberbully?”_

_“Yeah,”_ Kyle exhaled. “You know that.”

“Like, god, if you’re gonna bully someone, do it in person. Otherwise, you’re a total pussy.”

“I hate you, Cartman. I really do.”

Kyle’s words were mean and Cartman expected no less.

But what he didn’t know, was that it was the first time Kyle had smiled all week.

And what Kyle didn’t know, was that _that_ moment was the moment that solidified Cartman’s feelings for him. Maybe forever.

Cartman swore to himself, from that day on, he’d never be the reason, Kyle Broflovski cried. He’d disregard their childhood; never, ever, again.

They held on.

 

* * *

 

Kyle Broflovski wasn’t sure when he’d fallen as hard as he had for Eric Cartman.

He felt for him, things he’d never, ever felt for another person...not just in a _romantic_ sense, either, there was truly no way to describe every single thing that he felt for Cartman, from their rivalry as kids, up to their current situation. He knew he’d had to have fallen for him _somewhere_ along the line, his feelings didn’t come out of _nowhere..._ had it started that time they’d clung to each other, outside of Kenny’s hospital room, back in the fourth grade? No, maybe it had been a larger amalgamation of developing feelings over the years...had all of Cartman’s weird flirtations and clinginess truly _gotten_ to him? Snuck right into his heart? Was it leftover _guilt_ from bullying Cartman in the third grade? All of that _combined,_ somehow?

Kyle couldn’t pick the time, date, week, month or even _year,_ that he suspected he’d fallen for Eric...he knew that he’d been feeling something strong enough to call him back to Colorado from _New York freaking City,_ just so he could run to Stan’s party and _kiss_ Cartman, but once it hit him, it hit him hard: this wasn’t new. This was a feeling that had established itself, deep in the depths of his heart, a _long,_ long time ago...but it was all under the surface and now it was bubbling out and Kyle couldn’t control his own feelings. Eric was already head-over-heels and he’d been all too aware of it, for too long. Now it was Kyle’s turn to catch-up...and he was _sprinting._

Middle of March, and the weather was finally looking up. Kyle had even seen _flowers_ popping up in Stark’s Pond and he wanted to drive further out of town with Eric, so they could go stargazing one night. Kyle liked the science aspect of it; even if he was going to law school, he loved science and it was science combined with romance. He’d never done the same thing for a girl before. He didn’t want to. When he was with Eric, he forgot girls existed. He forgot _anyone else,_ existed. They were going to go stargazing, and when Kyle got his acceptance letter, he and Eric would drive into the city to go to IKEA for dorm furniture and on grad night, they’d skip the after-party and do things that were private and permanent and sacred and the two would remember forever and Kyle had a million plans mapped out for them and so did Eric; it went on and on and on…

It was an evening like that. Another dreamy evening, where they’d lazed around, all kissy, all day long, until Kyle insisted they leave the house to get at least a _little_ bit of fresh air. Eric didn’t object, as long as they were allowed to hold hands. Kyle didn’t object. He never objected at all.

“I was thinking for your birthday this year, we shouldn’t do a keg again,” said Eric. His arm was latched onto Kyle’s, as they made their way through the neighbourhood again. Clouds littered a cotton candy sky, but Eric was the only view Kyle was taking in.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you didn’t get one,” Kyle scoffed. “Why are you even thinking about my birthday? That’s in May.”

“Be- _cause, Kyle,_ I was _thinking_ we should do something special instead.”

“I don’t want a keg, regardless,” Kyle said. “But you’re thinking way too ahead.”

“You don’t think about our future?”

“I... _do,_ I always do…” Kyle bit his lip. He felt like all they talked about, was the two of them, but what else could be expected out of a relationship between two narcissists? “You _know_ that…”

“Great,” Eric beamed. “‘Cause I was thinking we should go to Casa Bonita.”

“For my birthday? You wanna go to _Casa Bonita?_ After the dramatic bullshit you put us all through back in the fourth grade, you wanna celebrate my 18th birthday at Casa fucking Bonita.”

“Yeah, duh...Kyle, have you even _been_ there since fourth grade?”

“I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Maybe, it was wishful thinking.”

“You couldn’t hate me if you tried.”

He was probably right.

“Yeah…” Kyle sighed. Fingers still intertwined with Eric’s, he raised his arm up and around his boyfriend’s shoulder. Kyle wasn’t significantly taller than Eric, but they were at perfect cuddling height so that Eric could rest his head on Kyle’s shoulder. “That’s true.”

“Mmmm,” Eric hummed, leaning in closer and resting against Kyle’s body. “You’re so _hot,_ babe…”

Kyle rolled his eyes, though his cheeks turned red. _“Babe”_ was a new one, Eric had been testing out on him lately and he had to admit, it made his whole heart stop and restart itself again. _“Stop…”_

“Then stop being so hot…”

_“God,_ you’re annoying,” Kyle bit his lip, pulling Eric in closer again. He couldn’t recall why he’d ever thought Cartman was unattractive for being “fat”. If anything, it added to his charm and his secret soft-side… _“Why_ am I dating you again?”

“My charm and good looks and personality, duh.”

“Sounds like an error of judgment on my part.”

“Uhhh, in case you hadn’t _noticed,_ I’m a _catch,_ Kyle.”

“Oh, stop,” Kyle said, as they lazily made their way down the street. He could hear another group of guys playing... _whatever,_ in the park nearby, but couldn’t be assed to check where the noise was coming from or _who_ it was coming from or pretend he and Eric Cartman _weren’t_ flirting, right out there in public, for the whole damn world to see. “You’ve had a massive crush on me since fourth fucking grade.”

“Who can blame me?”

What a tease. Kyle kissed him just so he’d shut the fuck up. Also, because he just liked kissing him. Goddamnit, maybe he’d liked him since the fourth grade, _too..._ who could blame _him?_ They continued along the street, fingers laced together, stupid grins intact.

“Wanna go to the movies tonight?” Eric asked.

Kyle shrugged, swaying him along as they walked. “Yeah, but we should have dinner first.”

“Fine by me, but wh—”

“Well, well, _well._ So _all,_ the _fucking_ rumours, are _true.”_

_Oh no._

Kyle was tempted _not_ to turn around.

He dropped Cartman’s hand.

“What the fuck are you _talking_ about?”

The instant Kyle _did_ turn around he was faced head-on, by Stan and his football friends. Kenny stood a ways away, in the back, shooting Kyle a look of dread. He didn’t know the football players very well and generally didn’t care what they thought about him or his business, but he didn’t like the negative attention.

“Jason said he caught you and _Cartman...making-out_ up against a car last week,” Stan narrowed his eyes to slits. He was wearing his _SOUTH PARK ANIMAL SHELTER_ hoodie and carrying a hockey stick under his arm. It was much too warm to go skating. Must have been for street hockey. “And I told him to go fuck himself, but I guess he was telling the truth.”

Kyle shot Kenny a look and received an awkward shrug in return. _Helpful._ “Oh, come on, Stan,” Kyle scoffed. “Suddenly you care about what _Jason_ has to say?”

“I didn’t, until he turned out to be _right,”_ Stan shook his head, eyes scanning back over the couple. “Kyle, are you fucking _kidding_ me?”

His cheeks were on fire. He could feel Eric’s eyes, glued onto him, pleading for some sort of _answer;_ was he about to be forced into coming clean, _this_ instant? “I _still_ don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit,” Stan snapped, tossing his hockey stick aside, to approach Kyle and Cartman, up close and personal. “Jason caught you... _kissing,_ and we all just saw you holding... _Cartman’s_ hand, so cut the act, already.”

Eric narrowed his own eyes, back up at Kyle.

Kyle either had to please his best friend or his boyfriend. Stan, or Eric freaking Cartman. He was about to lose his mind.

“It’s...you don’t have all the details.”

“Oh, come on, _Kyle,_ how many details are there to it?” Stan snapped. “Are you actually...are you _dating Cartman?”_

“Stan—”

“Kyle, _are you dating Cartman?”_

He didn’t know what to say. It felt like he was being backed into a corner; forced to admit something he wasn’t ready to say yet; of course he was dating Cartman and he liked him, god he liked him _so much,_ Eric fucking Cartman was oxygen and he breathed it. He was the first thing on his mind when he awoke every morning and the last thing on his mind every night. Of course, they were dating; they were together, they were boyfriends and the feelings he bore for Eric Cartman took up so much space in his chest, that it made things hard to breathe. He had to remind himself to breathe, not just in that moment, but in _every_ moment with Cartman. Kyle didn’t like the way Stan was looking at him and the stares of amusement from his other friends. He looked to Kenny for help, but he just bit his lip and shrugged. What the fuck was he _supposed_ to do?

“I’m...well, really... _truly,_ this just requires a little...explanation, see I’m—”

Wrong answer.

Eric shot him a look, eyes narrowed to slits and he turned on his heel, in the opposite direction. Hands stuffed in his pockets. That was a _big_ tell. He was upset and Kyle already _knew_ he was upset, but he’d really done himself in _this_ time. Cartman had never been nonconfrontational before...but something had changed within him and Kyle recognized that and he knew in that instant, he’d fucked up. _Big_ time.

_“Cartman!”_

Second mistake. _“Cartman”._

Kyle turned back to Stan, anger welling up from within his chest. “Well, _now_ look what you’ve fucking done.”

Not chasing after him. Third mistake.

_“Me?!”_ Stan gaped. “What have _I_ done wrong?”

“You scared him off!”

“It’s _Cartman,_ is that even _possible?!”_

_“He’s sensitive!”_

“Who _are_ you?!”

“Oh, come on, Stan,” Kenny said. Kyle was secretly a little relieved he was finally stepping in. “Is it really _that_ big of a deal? You had to have seen it coming at some point.”

_“‘Seen it coming’…”_ Stan laughed, but it sounded weird. “Seen _this_ coming. I should have seen _Kyle_ willingly dating _Cartman,_ at some point? God, do either of you fucking _hear_ yourselves?!”

“I mean, come on…” Kenny shrugged. “They’re always... _you know._ Really, Stan, Kyle and Cartman. _Kyle and Cartman._ You never saw _Kyle and Cartman_ coming? They’ve always been obsessed with each other. I was almost _relieved_ when they started dating.”

“You _knew?!”_ Stan blinked, grabbing Kenny by the shoulders. Kyle contemplated running after Cartman, but he was long gone. “You...knew, and you didn’t _tell_ me?!”

“It’s not my _place_ to tell!” Kenny said, ducking out of his grip. “It’s Kyle’s relationship, not _mine!”_

Stan went quiet for a moment and Kyle was ready to brace for it. Stan was _angry._ He didn’t get “angry” upfront very often; sad and irate, yes, but rarely ever angry to the point of making a scene. It was early evening, on a Friday. There were kids playing in the nearby park. It was all a bit much. “You told... _Kenny..._ before _me?”_

“I didn’t tell Kenny...he found out.”

_“What?!”_

“Yeah, for someone’s who’s obviously trying to keep it a “secret”, you and Cartman are pretty PDA,” Kenny laughed, backing away from the two. “Walked in on them practically making a porno on the couch.”

Stan’s jaw practically dropped to the ground and he ran a hand up and over his forehead. “Oh my god. Oh my _god.”_

“Stan, seriously dude, relax,” Kenny laughed. “We’ll never have to deal with them fighting, like, ever again!”

“What about when they _break-up?”_ Stan snapped. “God, what the _fuck,_ Kyle?”

Kyle narrowed his eyes down to slits, voice shaking with rage. “You know _what, Stan,_ honestly, you just sound homophobic right now.”

A few of the other boys ooed and jeered in the background. Stan’s eyes went wide, the moment the words came out of Kyle’s mouth. _Instant_ regret, was what Kyle was feeling. Instant regret.

“C’mon, Kyle, don’t go there,” Kenny winced. “A few weeks ago, you couldn’t even admit to me you and Cartman were a thing, and _Stan_ is...that’s just not fa—”

_“—homophobic?”_ Stan blinked. “You’re calling...you’re calling me, _“homophobic”?”_

“Stan, you know he didn’t mean it,” Kenny insisted, turning back over to Kyle. “Kyle, _seriously,_ you should shut the fuck up.”

“I can’t believe you just called me fucking _“homophobic”!”_ Stan seethed. “I don’t give a _shit_ about who you choose to stick your dick into, _Kyle,_ you _know_ that’s not the reason I’m mad at you, so don’t turn around and play the fucking victim card with me!”

_“They’re gonna fight!”_

“Clearly you do, ‘cause you’re making a huge fucking _scene_ over it.”

_“Fight!”_

_“C’mon, fight!”_

Kenny turned on his heel, walking in the opposite direction of the small crowd of football players that were watching and cheering the two on. Kyle glared in his direction, reaching back over and grabbing Kenny by his hoodie,

“Where the hell do you think _you’re_ going?”

Kenny shrugged. “I mean...I’m gonna go check on Cartman, he see—”

“Oh, _no,_ you’re not,” Kyle laughed, voice getting choked up in his throat. “What, so you guys can _make-out_ again?!”

_“OOOOOOOH!”_

Kenny’s eyes widened. “Kyle, what the fuck’s _wrong_ with you?!”

“You said...that only happened... _once,”_ Stan gasped, blinking in Kenny’s direction. “You said it was “experimentation”!”

“It _was_ experimentation, Jesus Christ, we’ve _all_ made-out with dudes, who _cares?!”_

_“Stan_ knew?!” Kyle fumed, letting go of Kenny’s hoodie. “So, Kenny told you he kissed Cartman, and you just...you never _told_ me?!”

_“Fucking fight already!”_

“Oh my fucking _god,_ Kyle, will you calm down?!” Kenny asked. “It was years and fucking _years_ ago. You can’t even publicly call Cartman your “boyfriend” without getting into a fight with Stan over it, so why do you _care?!”_

_“FIGHT!”_

“I don’t, I just don’t like getting lied to,” Kyle snapped. “I’m kinda _funny,_ like that.”

“No one’s lying to you,” Kenny sighed. “You and Cartman have been getting along so well over the last few years, we just...there was no point in telling you.”

“Lie by omission,” Kyle narrowed his eyes, balling his fists. “It was a lie by omission.”

“God, shut the fuck up, Kyle,” Stan shouted. “You’re not a fucking lawyer.”

_“FIGHT!”_

“Not _yet.”_

“For someone who hates his father, you sure do wanna be exactly fucking _like_ him.”

Kyle could feel his blood boiling. “You take that back, Stan. Fucking take it, _right_ back.”

_“Why,_ Kyle? _Why,_ Kyle, am I _wrong?”_ he laughed, irately.

“I am _nothing_ like my father,” Kyle’s voice shook with anger.

“Alright, fine. I take it back,” Stan shook his head, slowly reapproaching Kyle. “You _aren’t_ your father. You’re just another, mixed variation of an asshole.”

_“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”_

“I am _not_ an asshole.”

“You’re _not_ an asshole? _You? You,_ think you’re not an _asshole?”_ Stan laughed, arms collapsing at his sides. “Just _look_ at you, Kyle. You’re an asshole. You’re a self-righteous, assface, who doesn’t have time for anyone besides himself and _Cartman._ And Kenny’s right, I _should_ have seen this coming, because this is _exactly_ the way it’s been going on for _years.”_

“Shut your _fucking_ mouth.”

“You and Cartman, Kyle. There are only _two_ people you care about, on this _entire_ fucking planet, and it’s _you,_ and _Cartman.”_

_“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”_

“You think _I’m_ just like my father?” Kyle laughed, the two closing in on each other. He knew the others were watching; a show was what they wanted and it was what they’d all receive, too. “You know _what,_ Stan? You’re the one with a _drinking_ problem at 17. Why do you think I don’t like going to parties with you, anymore? You’re a whiny little _drunk,_ and I’m so _sorry,_ that I don’t have time to tag along with you and Wendy Testaburger anymore, because I have my own problems to deal with. Lean on someone else from now on, because I’m fucking through with you.”

“Guys, _please,_ don’t do thi—”

_“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”_

Kyle thought Stan was about to pop a blood vessel. _““Lean on”?_ You think I fucking _lean on_ you? You think I need _you_ for support?” Stan laughed, running a hand through his hair in exhaustion. “Are you that fucking _delusional?!_ I haven’t had an _inch_ of support from you, since we were ten-years-old, and you decided my feelings took second priority to you and _Eric fucking Cartman!_ I _pity_ anyone else who’s ever called you a _friend!”_

_“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”_

“Then don’t _call_ me a _“friend”,_ Stan,” Kyle snapped. “I’m not that desperate!”

Kenny’s eyes went wide. “Stan, don’t even bother, he’s not wo—”

“Clearly _not,”_ Stan practically spat out his next words. “You’ve had your _dick_ shoved up Cartman’s ass since we were children; guess I just never thought you’d leave it there to fucking rot.” He turned around, moving through the crowd, ignoring the jeers and chants of _“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”_

Kenny tried one last time, but it was on the _wrong_ person. _“Seriously,_ Stan, he’s—”

Kyle pushed past a few football players, not caring whether or not they tumbled over and cursed; he put a firm hand on Stan’s shoulder, turning him over so they were face to face. Raising a fist, Kyle aimed for his face, missed, and instead the two went tumbling over onto the pavement. He grabbed hold of Stan’s hoodie, pulling him upwards and laying into him, clocking him on the side of his cheek.

_“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”_

_“Kick his fucking_ ass, _Marsh!”_

Furious, Stan elbowed Kyle across the face, whacking him in the nose. “What the _fuck?!”_

“You fucking _punched_ me!”

Kyle stumbled backward; he should have known better. Punching in the nose was 10x more effective than he _cheek._ Ears ringing and head reeling, he felt Stan climb back over his body and pull him upwards by his sweater, punching him instead, right across the face. Kyle thrust his arms back out, pushing Stan back down onto the pavement, where he winced in pain, from the gravel. Kyle didn’t care. He just aimed again, punching his “super best friend” with such force, that Stan flopped back downwards onto the ground, clutching his face, in pain. Kyle didn’t stop; he hovered over top of him, thwacking Stan in the arm and back, over and over again, ignoring the scraped hands that were wet with blood and crusted in gravel, held over his face. Stan shielded himself and Kyle persisted.

_“You gonna let him treat you that way, Marsh?”_

Kenny ran over to the two, grabbing Kyle by the arm.

_“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”_

“Kyle, what the _fuck_ do you think you’re—”

It was too late.

Stan got back up on his feet again, grabbing Kyle’s by the neck of his sweater. He was a bit shorter than Kyle, and Kyle had more experience fist-fighting, but Stan’s anger outweighed any strength on Kyle’s behalf. He aimed and punched Kyle, straight across the face, sending him tumbling down to the pavement.

That was it.

No blow could top that.  
The crowd oohed and shouted, a few running over to pat Stan on the back and congratulate him; for once, he had the upper hand. For the first time in over _seven_ years, he’d really had the upper hand, over Kyle. His best friend, his _super best friend,_ sat lying in a heap, on the ground, coughing up blood, from out of his mouth.

_“Stan…”_ Kenny gaped, pushing Stan’s football friends aside, to check up on him. Not even _he_ wanted anything to do with Kyle, in that moment.

Kyle was a fucking disaster.

He spat out the blood that had pooled up in his mouth, wiping it off on the back of his hand, and getting back on two feet again. Kyle felt around in his mouth; no teeth missing, he’d just been hit _that_ hard. He spat out more blood, cursing and feeling his heartbeat pick up in pace; god, who the fuck did Stan think he _was?_

“Are you _kidding_ me?” He muttered, voice then working up into a scream. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me?!”

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?” Stan asked, blood dripping from his own nose. “You fucking _attacked_ me!”

“You should have minded your own motherfucking _business,”_ Kyle snapped. “None of this has _anything_ to do with you.”

“Didn’t you ever consider I just wanted to be a part of your _life?!”_ Stan was practically pleading. “Kyle, I don’t _care_ who you date. I don’t give a _shit._ I don’t even have a problem with _Cartman._ I just wanted to be...I just wanted to _know…”_

“You’re so full of shit!” Kyle spat. “You’re so full of shit, Stan, god, I _know_ your stupid fucking douchebag _football_ friends are making fun of Cartman and his _mom_ or his _weight_ or his _house,_ his _lifestyle,_ it’s not fucking funny! I’ve heard them all doing it at your stupid fucking parties, and it’s not fucking _funny!_ You’re so full of shit!”

“Kyle, _you_ started the “fatass” jokes, back in the _third fucking grade! Elementary school!”_ Stan shook. He was exasperated and running out of breath. _“You_ were the one who started it and everyone went along with it, and then Cartman changed, so why are you so fucking _defensive?_ Why are you so defensive, wh—”

_“—BECAUSE I LOVE HIM!”_

Stan’s eyebrows knit together in concern; Kenny’s in amusement. The two could only blink at the spectacle Kyle was putting on. He was still bleeding from the mouth and his face was a mess, and he felt like he was making a complete tool of himself, but he had nothing to lose anymore.

_He was the first thing on his mind when he awoke every morning and the last thing on his mind every night._

It had been that way ever since they were children. This wasn’t new. It was always him; it was only ever Eric Cartman that consumed Kyle’s mind and occupied every single one of his thoughts and made his breath hitch in his throat and his heart beat uncontrollably. He cared so much. He loved _so_ much, about him. It was unexplainable and inevitable and ironically, so _careless,_ but Cartman had gone from being his responsibility to a real _liability_ and someone he cared for. He wanted to see the best in him and he wanted the very best _from_ him. It wasn’t impossible. It was real, and real enough to hurt, knowing he’d let him walk away; it was love.

_“I love him,”_ Kyle glared, a few, hot tears, rushing into his eyes. “I love him and I care about him and I’m...I’m so tired. I’m just so fucking _tired.”_

_“Kyle…”_

“No, don’t. Don’t fucking _start_ with me,” he said, dragging a hand over his eyes. “I don’t wanna deal with either of you anymore.”

“I just wanted to be a part of your life,” Stan said, out of breath. “You’re my _best friend.”_

_“‘Was’,”_ Kyle muttered. “I _was_ your best friend.”

“Oh, come on, Kyle,” Kenny laughed. “Dude, you can’t be _serious.”_

“I am. I’m _that_ fucking serious,” Kyle spat. “You just _outed_ us, to _all_ of your stupid fucking football friends. And inevitably, the whole fucking _school_ and the whole fucking _town._ And I don’t even _care,_ but it was _our_ decision to make, and you fucked it all up.”

“I didn’t...that’s not what I intended,” Stan blanked, voice stuck in his throat. “Kyle, I didn’t realize; that’s not what I meant, I thought it was public.”

“It _is_ public,” Kenny sighed. “Kyle, don’t do this.”

_“Stay the fuck out of it,”_ Kyle snapped. He felt his body shaking with uncontrollable rage; he wanted to scream. “Look at my face! Look at my _fucking_ face, how do I _explain_ this to my _mother!”_

Kenny rolled his eyes. “Kyle, _you_ threw the first punch—”

_“—I’m sorr—”_

“And _he_ threw the last one!” Kyle seethed, his voice shaking and lowering a full octave. “I want nothing to do with you anymore.”

“Kyle—”

_“—never again.”_

“Kyle, _I—”_

“What the fuck does “Never again”, _mean_ to you?!” Kyle snapped. “—just leave me alone! God fucking _damnit.”_

He turned away, ignoring the shouts that came behind him, from Stan and Kenny. He ignored them. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to be lectured, he didn’t want any more drama or fighting or hate at all, he only wanted one thing, one person and he didn’t even know if he _had_ that option anymore, because he’d _also_ hurt that person.

He just kept on walking.

And when he made it to Eric’s, there was no car in the driveway and the lights were out. The sun was setting behind the mountains and everything felt fuzzy and unreal again, but Kyle couldn’t tell if it was because of the _sunset_ or the blood still leaking from his mouth and nose. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window panes of Eric’s house, lifting up his hat to take a further look. There was a large, but not dark, bruise forming on the left side of his face, extending from his eye, down to his cheek, a scrape on his left temple, and a large scratch on his cheek below. His nose surprisingly didn’t look broken, which was a relief because he’d already broken it once in third grade and a second time during a fight in 10th. Still, there was blood dripping from it, though the mouth-bleeding had subdued. He sighed shakily, knocking on the front door.

No one answered.

“For _fuck’s_ sake,” Kyle muttered. He was tired. He’d been humiliated. He didn’t want to cry; he wasn’t _going_ to tear up, not for the second time today, not _ever_ again. _Never_ again. His head hurt and he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. He pounded on the door. _Somebody_ had to be there. _Somebody_ had to answer. Not just _somebody;_ it had to be _Eric Cartman._ Kyle fell back against the door, letting himself slid down and collapse at the faded “WELCOME” matt. He was tired. He just wanted to sleep. He’d been tired for too long.

The lock creaked open before he could even hear footsteps padding towards the door. “Just go away. I don’t wanna see—”

Kyle slid back from the weight of the door, falling onto the floor in front of Eric. The boy above him was still wearing the same, old hoodie from before and his blue eyes widened the moment he saw Kyle laying in a heap, at his feet. He gasped, voice instantly riddled with panic. _“Kyle?!”_

Eric got onto his knees, leaning downwards and resting a supportive hand under Kyle’s head, other hand flying to his chest, to feel for his heartbeat. His breath hitched and caught in his throat, as he could only gasp out a few words. _“Kyle…?_ Kyle, are you—”

_“—fight,”_ he said, body aching all over. His muscles felt tense and it wasn’t just from fist-fighting with his “super best friend”. “Me and Stan...got into a _fight.”_

“Your _eye…”_ Eric’s voice shook. “Oh my god, Kyle, your _eye…”_

“I’m...sorry,” Kyle groaned, weakly reaching back upward to wipe the blood from his nose. “I’m sorry for earlier…”

“Shhh…Kyle, _please,_ don’t _speak…”_

Eric helped Kyle get back up on his feet, walking him over towards his couch. It was beaten up and dingy and the room was dark, but Kyle was too dizzy to see properly, anyway. He flopped over onto the couch, while Eric turned on the lamp, sitting in the corner of their living room and momentarily tracked upstairs. Kyle shifted onto his back. He shouldn’t have fought Stan, but he _had_ to fight Stan. He knew it was inevitable at this point; things that had gone unspoken for too long were shouted, not 10 minutes ago, and his throat ached. It _hurt._ Everything _hurt._

Eric made his way back down the stairs, holding a washcloth, glass of water and bottle of what looked like Advil. He squished down onto the couch, Kyle lifting and maneuvering his leg around his boyfriend, so that Eric had more space to sit. He hovered over Kyle’s chest, rubbing a thumb across his cheek, eyes wide with concern. Kyle winced softly, letting out a shaky breath. The bruises hurt. He didn’t even recall the fight lasting very long, yet everything in his body ached.

Maybe he was just tired and achy in _general._

“Oh, _Kyle…”_

“I’m fine,” Kyle breathed, shakily. He was thankful for Eric’s attentiveness...thankful for Eric in _general._ “It looks worse than it is.”

_“Stan_ did this to you?”

_“Yeah,”_ Kyle laughed softly. “You should see him too, though.”

Eric patted the wet washcloth, over Kyle’s scrapes and scratches, feeling for the temperature of his forehead with his free hand. _“Kyle…”_

“My head hurts,” he admitted, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. “I lost a bit of blood.”

“Oh my _god,”_ Eric gasped, eyes going wide as he pulled Kyle’s ushanka off, brushing aside his hair. “You’re bleeding all over!”

“It’s not deep,” Kyle reassured him. He was having flashbacks to their almost first kiss back in the spare room at Token’s Christmas party, that time back in December...when Cartman had arrived late, with a bloodied bruise and Kyle’s chest ached with worry and anger. “Seriously, don’t worry, it’s just a scrape.”

“Your _face…”_ Eric’s voice wavered. “What did he _do_ to you?”

“We fought a bit,” Kyle sighed. “It’s fine. _I’m_ fine.”

Eric rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie and uncapped the bottle of Advil, reaching for two tablets and then slipping his hand beneath Kyle’s head and neck for support. “Take these,” he shook. _“Please,_ Kyle. _Please.”_

Kyle was definitely hesitant to take any medication from the _Cartmans’_ house, but they were marked off with little “Advil” stamps. Eric helped him lift the glass of water to his mouth and swallow both tablets; Kyle then leaning back again and keeping his eyes shut. His head was still reeling, but he felt safe. He felt safe here and now; Eric sliding himself under Kyle’s body, then resting his boyfriend’s head in his lap. Kyle’s heart picked up in pace, as he felt Eric run the back of his hand against his cheek.

“Thanks,” Kyle muttered, blinking up at Eric, from his position on the couch. “I feel like shit.”

Eric ran his fingers through smooth, red hair, stroking and playing with his curls, softly. He let out a shaky breath, cradling Kyle’s head in his lap; releasing a nervous laugh. “Your hair is getting so long.”

“It’s not that bad...”

“It’s in the way of your eyes,” Eric sighed, wearily, pushing a few strands aside to peek at his bruised eye. “Your...your _eye…”_

Kyle could detect the tearfulness in his voice; the fear and worry in his tone. “I’m _fine.”_

“I thought you were dying.”

“No, you _didn’t,”_ Kyle laughed softly. “C’mon...I’m not...I’m not even _close_ to dying…”

“I thought you were,” Eric said, running the washcloth back over Kyle’s bruising. “You were lying in a fucking _heap_ on my doorstep.”

“I was just fatigued.”

Eric shook his head. “I didn’t...how would I know? How would I _know…”_

“Why are you _crying?”_ Kyle asked, fingers latching onto Eric’s arm, and running them back and forth over his soft skin. “Don’t cry.”

“I almost lost you once,” Cartman whispered. _“Never again.”_

He didn’t know which instance Eric was referring to. Could have been several. Kyle had never seen him so choked up before, but Eric _had_ been this choked up for him before; even as a child, who _“hated”_ Kyle, he feared the day he would die or even worse: just _walk away._

“I’m sorry for earlier,” Kyle said softly, hand traveling down to Eric’s wrist. The other boy stared back down, flashing hopeful eyes, trapped with tears. “I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I didn’t run after you, _Eric._ I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Eric sniffled, still stroking Kyle’s hair, affectionately. He laced his fingers through his boyfriends, ignoring hot tears as they came. When Cartman was _really_ upset, he never made a show of crying. He just cried.

“It’s _not_ fine,” Kyle decided. His heart pounded, as Eric picked the washcloth back up, softly cleaning up his wounds. “I don’t...I just...I just, I wanna do _better.”_

“It’s fine,” he shook, leaning downward, softly kissing Kyle’s forehead. “I’m fine, you’re fine, it’s... _fine.”_

“But...but _why?”_ Eric asked, smoothing out Kyle’s hair. “Kyle, what _happened?”_

“I didn’t like what they were saying about you,” he sighed. “It was really bothering me. I’m tired of all the fucking judgment, _so…”_

_“Why_ would you _do_ that?” Eric choked. “Kyle, it’s not _worth_ it.”

“For you,” Kyle breathed, exhaling weakly. “Why _else_ would I do anything? It was for _you.”_

Eric’s chest heaved softly. _“Kyle..._ I…”

Kyle felt like his throat was closing up; the whole world was shaking beneath him and his heart ached so hard he could feel it. He raised his free hand, softly brushing his knuckles against Eric’s cheek, to wipe away his straying tears.

“I am so...in _love_ with you,” Kyle breathed, voice almost catching in his throat. “I love you so much and I...I don’t know _how_ or _when_ or _why_ it started, but I don’t give a fuck about your past, or _my_ past or anyone _else_ for that fucking matter. It’s _you._ And I’ve made up my mind. It’s _you.”_

_“Kyle…”_

Kyle was weak but strong enough to try sitting up. Eric shuffled down onto his lap; arms still clutching at his arms for support. Kyle’s voice was weak, but his feelings were strong enough to speak.

“No, _don’t,”_ he said. Eric’s eyes twinkled in the dark, as he absent-mindedly wrapped a strand of Kyle’s hair around his finger, letting him continue. “When you ignored me all summer, it hurt. It hurt, so fucking bad, I had to hook up with some girl in an attempt to distract myself, but it fucking _hurt._ I should have known it was you, the moment I landed in New York on Christmas Eve and I just wanted to be back in Colorado. I should have known when you didn’t text me back all summer, and it was the only thing on my mind. I should have known when we were fucking _children;_ no matter what terrible bullshit we put each other through, what either of us ever had to say or do, I wanted to go back to you, every. Single. Time.”

“Kyle—”

“—maybe this is what _insanity_ feels like,” he was spiraling...averted his eyes from Eric’s; Kyle could feel his mind slipping away. “Maybe, I’ve finally _lost_ it. Maybe, we’ve both lost it, and I, I’m losing my mind, and you’re losing your mind, or it’s just me, and—”

_“—I love you, too.”_

Kyle’s eyes locked back into Eric’s. Blue held green captive; Kyle hung onto each and every word that he trembled.

“Kyle...I’ve loved you, since…” he let out a shaky breath, hands slipping back through Kyle’s. Muscle memory. “For as long as I can fucking imagine, I’ve been in love with you. I fucked up so many times; I was such a fucked up kid, I never believed _anyone_ could love me. And I never believed it’d be _you._ I’ve _always_ loved you,” Eric shook, eyes wide and shamelessly naked. “I just didn’t think you’d ever catch up.”

It was dark but the soft light coming from the corner, and glowing sunset, leaking inside from the window panes, crossed paths and shone over Eric Cartman. He looked positively ethereal, so _perfect;_ Kyle leaned forward and kissed him so hard that it _hurt._ Eric reached over and wrapped his arms around Kyle’s neck and Kyle could feel the cut in his lip stinging and burning, but he kissed him even harder, arms twisting around Eric’s waist, the heat from his body, instantly warming up his core. It felt so good to love, and be in love, and _be_ loved. He wanted them to hold on _forever._ Kyle didn’t want either of them to let go. He wasn’t prepared, to _ever_ let go.

Because he’d finally caught up. It was no longer a race to the finish, a competition; they’d been fighting for too many years, was that it? Was this _finally_ the moment the fighting would become obsolete and they could be real and honest and naked, without having to be stripped to the bone from _fighting,_ pushed to the _hilt,_ but to be vulnerable and exposed to each other of free _will?_ To put all of their pent-up feelings and passion, into something free of _resentment;_ was it _over?_ Had it all, finally just, settled _in?_

And that was just it; Kyle _wanted_ this. He didn’t even _want_ to think back to a world, where this _wasn’t_ part of their reality, where they _didn’t_ love shamelessly and shamelessly want to be _loved_ by one another.

Kyle _wanted_ to be rolling around on Eric Cartman’s couch, lips locked into his, forever and for always.

That was probably impossible to achieve.

But all they could do was try.

Kyle was closing in on finality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that "GO AWAY, TATE!!!!!!!!" scene from AHS murder house, but it's stan and kyle LOLLLLLLL


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HAS IT REALLY BEEN A MONTH AND ONE DAY??? I just to finish this by the end of the day, but I just barely missed it...dang...
> 
>  
> 
> ~~lowkey was scared to write ch19 bc I got sm good feedback on ch18 lmao I hope I didn't plateau...glad y'all like self-indulgent drama...?~~
> 
>  
> 
> **UPDATE (April 14, 2019): I'm sorry this has taken so long to update. writing a full-length fic is v time-consuming and I got unexpectedly busy over fall/winter (': the next chapter will be out w/in the next few days and if you're desperate for more, I DID post two new recent one-shots airsgjk. thank u for getting me to 500+ kudos!! ♡♡♡**
> 
> recap: ch17, kyle ran into liane at the market and she didn't look so hot...ch18, stan found out about kyle and cartman's relationship, ran into them and he and kyle FOUGHT (ooh la la!). then, eric, like, metaphorically kissed kyle's wounds all better bc I'm a DISGUSTING self-indulgent THOT and uh, yeah, kids, that's what you missed on dragon ball z
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

It was that same very day that Kyle and Eric had said their first official “I love you’s”, that everything truly began to fall apart. Life is, was, always a balancing scale and no one knew that truth harder than either boy. Kyle lost his best friend. Maybe _all_ of his friends. He stuck up a middle finger to the world, spat out a great “fuck you” to anyone who disagreed with his choice of who to love. No, not “choice”. Kyle Broflovski never “chose” to fall in love with Eric Cartman, just as Eric Cartman had never chosen to fall in love with Kyle Broflovski, but that was what had happened, that was their reality and there was no point in attempting to defy it.

And it wasn’t his choice to love Eric Cartman, but it was entirely Kyle’s choice to walk away from everyone else and chose to spend the rest of that day locking lips on Eric’s couch. It was hard to believe and to accept that just _months_ before...this would never have seemed like a viable option. Just a year ago, he’d probably been out on this same night, with some girl from their junior class, hearing every word she’d spoken, but never listening...no, he preferred staring into Eric’s eyes, as round and expressive as they were, preferred listening to every word on his tongue and preferred kissing the mouth each word, stupid, or stupidly poetic as they were, would exit.

_That_ was Kyle’s choice.

It was Eric who pulled away this time, but his eyes twinkled. Fairy lights from the neighbours' porch, reflected in through the cracks of the blinds and everything felt hazy and far from reality, but this was all too real.

_“What?”_ Kyle breathed. His head felt light. Kyle never liked feeling light-headed; he prefered to be level-headed but even as a kid, his reasoning skills tended to take the backseat to Eric Cartman — as did everything else _and_ everyone else in his life. “You’re not bored of me already, or what?”

“Yeah, fucking right,” Eric shook his head. “Kyle, are you...are you _okay?_ You know...you just seem _different_ and I know you’re hur—”

“I’m a little bruised. Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugged, lacing his fingers back around Eric’s. “Nothing that I haven’t dealt with before.”

“I can’t believe Stan did this,” Eric muttered, cupping Kyle’s face in his hands. He softly felt at the bruised skin around Kyle’s left eye. His boyfriend winced. “Does it hurt?”

“I mean, when you touch it, yeah,” Kyle grinned weakly. He didn’t want or like to be babied and usually, the only person to baby Kyle was his mother, but even back when they were children, Eric Cartman’s soft side made his insides flop and his stomach fill with butterflies. He _loved_ that he had a soft side...that was he was all better...that it was thanks to him; he’d done _this,_ he’d taken Cartman and fixed him and brought out all of the good that he’d fallen for in the first place...now, here they were, as Eric kissed his wounds and had cradled his head in his lap and made everything softer. “Otherwise? Nah… _Nothing_ hurts.”

“You want me to get revenge on him?”

“No, _idiot,”_ Kyle laughed softly, resting his forehead against Eric’s. “I just wanna forget it. I just wanna stay here.”

Eric nodded, hands pressed into Kyle’s chest, as the other boy held him at the waist. He held nothing more sacred than soft, romantic moments like these, with Kyle. Moments like these, that he’d have daydreamed about as a child, but never imagined would ever come to life. Moments like these, he was reminded that Kyle belonged to him and the fear didn’t have to exist anymore. Kyle was his. Kyle was his, his and _all_ his and no one would, could,  _ever_ disturb that.

_Maybe._

Kyle slammed their lips together; Eric throwing his arms around his neck, at just the wrong moment.

If it had been Stan to arrive, Eric would have said “fuck it”, he’d keep kissing Kyle. If it had been Kenny, “fuck it”. Any one of Kyle’s stupid fucking ex-girlfriends, he’d keep going, remind them who owned, always _had_ owned and always _would_ own Kyle Broflovski’s heart, but it wasn’t. The sound of a key slipping through the front door lock sent a wave of panic through his chest and Eric pulled away, just as the door slipped open. The light flickered back on and only then could he see _just_ how truly awful Kyle’s injuries were.

He must have really been furious with Stan.

He must have really been loved—

_“Eric?”_

His legs were tucked over Kyle’s. Kyle’s hands were on Eric’s waist. And Eric’s arms that had been draped around Kyle’s neck slowly slid back down to his chest, but there was no point in trying to hide or cover up what had happened. She’d probably caught him and Kyle already. He got up onto his feet, as Kyle’s eyes widened, staring in Liane’s direction.

_“Mom?”_ His heart pounded and his legs shook. It wasn’t even his mother he feared. His mother, he could deal with.

Her boyfriend...not so much.

_“Mom?”_

She furrowed her brows together, looking between her son and the battered up boy on the couch. She didn’t look angry...she looked the same way she always did: perpetually _confused._

“Mom, I—”

_“Eric…”_

“Why are you home?” he scoffed, cheeks turning red. “What the hell are you _doing_ here? Mom, what the f—”

_“Eric.”_

_“Where is he?”_ Eric asked, swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat. He was almost too shocked to be scared; that was what happened when Cartman was scared, or worried. His natural first instinct always came down to anger and at that moment, he was terrified.

_“Eric!”_

“Mom, where the fuck _is_ he?!” Eric panicked. He tried ignoring the tears that were bound to come. _“Where is he?!”_

“I’m alone, tonight!” she finally exclaimed. “And what did I say about using that language, Eric, it’s completely ina—”

“And it’s _appropriate_ for you to come back home here, with all these fucking guys, and all the fucking _drugs_ and your fucking boyfriend, the walls are so _thin,_ here, _Mom,_ what the f—”

_“ERIC!”_ she snapped and Kyle winced. _“Calm down!”_

“Why are you even _here?!”_

“Your _future_ stepfather is busy tonight, so I thought I’d come home,” Liane sighed, wearily. She let out an airy breath, eyes flitting towards Kyle, who was still sitting uncomfortably on the couch. “Oh, _no…”_

_“Mom…”_ Eric whined. His voice was strained and powerless. “Mom, _please,_ you—”

“Oh, Eric…” she shook her head, softly. Liane didn’t look _disappointed..._ more worried, _saddened,_ than anything. “Oh, Eric... _why?”_

Kyle felt his heart crawl up into his throat.

_Why?_

Why was he gay, or why now, or why here, or why _Kyle?_ None of them sounded like pleasant answers.

_“Mom…”_

“Took that conversation to _heart,_ did you... _Kyle?”_ Liane sighed. Kyle looked away.

_Don’t tell Eric I said this, but I think he always had a little crush on you...I could be wrong, though..._

“Ms. Cartman, it’s—”

_“Mom...please,_ you just don’t und—”

“Eric…” she faltered. “Eric, we’ve had this chat before; you _know_ how...you _know_ how _he_ gets…”

Eric shook his head. “Mom... _Mom,_ you know I never…I mean—”

“I know. I _know,”_ Liane frowned, sighing remorsefully. “Don’t let him find out.”

_“Mom—”_

“I’m serious, Eric,” she snapped. It was obvious Cartman took after his mother; anger as a product of fear. “Do not. Let. Him. _Ever._ Find out.”

Kyle rested his face in the palm of his hands.

_Don’t tell Eric I said this._

_I think he always had a little crush on you..._

_God forbid his stepfather hear me say something like that, but…_

_“MOM—”_

“—for _everyone’s_ sake, you _cannot_ let him find out. _Please,_ Eric, _please.”_

She ran a hand through her hair before hurrying off, up the staircase; little sobs escaping her throat. Eric slid his back up against the bannister, slipping back down to the floor, in his own choked cries. He rested his head in his lap, body shaking softly and Kyle hesitantly made his way over.

“Eric…”

“You should leave.”

_“Eric—”_

“—Kyle, he’ll _kill_ me,” he snapped, voice faltering between quiet sobs. “You don’t get it, he’ll fucking _kill_ me.”

“Hey, my dad isn’t exactly father of the year, either,” Kyle hesitated. “He’s been calling me “gay” since I was a kid, for fuck’s—”

“—he’s _not_ my dad. That... _thing,_ she lets fuck her, is _not_ my fucking _dad,”_ Eric wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve. “Kyle, he’d _kill_ me. He really would.”

“But he _won’t._ He _can’t.”_

“How do _you_ know?”

“Because…” Kyle softened, taking a seat next to Eric; cautiously wrapping an arm back around him. “...he doesn’t know. And even if he did, you know _what?”_

Eric rubbed his eyes, peering back up at Kyle. _“What?”_

“Because I’ve known you since we were fucking toddlers,” Kyle grinned. Everything was wrong, everything was out of place, but he had Eric and that was the one thing he refused to let break. “You’d _never_ let him.”

And they fell back into that same habit again; lips locked together, as the rest of the world fell apart. Liane sobbed in her bedroom and Stan had Kyle’s blood smeared over his fists and nothing was okay, but it didn’t matter.

Kyle didn’t ever want to go home again and he was sorry when he did.

 

* * *

 

Kyle trudged through the front door, wounds lightly patched with band-aids from an old FIRST-AID kit found in Eric’s house. Some were harder to hide; like the bruise around his eye and small cut in his lip, but he didn’t care. Kyle was too in love with Eric and too angry with the rest of the world to care.

It was late by now; he’s stayed with Eric for as long as he could. They locked the basement door and snuck downstairs and kissed and talked and avoided everyone and everything, and the whole damned world, for that matter. He didn’t want to take anyone or anything else into consideration and so when he arrived home, he slammed the door shut with the intention of just going to bed.

But not if Sheila could help it.

_“Kyle Broflovski,_ just where the _hell_ do you think you’ve—”

His mother paused in her tracks, as Kyle turned his head to face her, from the staircase. Her eyes widened and she let out a loud gasp.

“Oh, _Kyle!”_ she scoffed. “Kyle, get down here this instant, oh _Kyle!”_

He rolled his eyes, stepping back down to the main floor. Sheila grabbed him by the arm, pulling her son closer and inspecting his face. “Mom, _really,_ I—”

“—so, _this_ was what Sharon meant when she said you and Stan got into a fight?” she shook her head. “Kyle, this is _awful!”_

“I’m _fine.”_

“I must have called you a thousand times and you never picked up once!”

“My phone died,” he lied, with a shrug. “Who _cares?”_

Her brows furrowed together. She looked half surprised...maybe half disappointed. “Kyle, what on _god’s green earth,_ has gotten into you? You’re keeping secrets, you’re fighting with your _very_ best friend, you’re being disrespectful to your _mother…_ this isn’t like you _at all…”_

“People change.”

“Imagine if your father caught you behaving this way!” Sheila snapped. “Do you know what he’d say? How disappointed he’d be? God, Kyle, you are _so_ lucky he’d away on business, or he’d—”

“—just _stop!”_ Kyle snapped, glaring down at his mother. He did feel a flicker of guilt, as he watched her face fall, but he didn’t care. He turned on his heel, heading in the direction of the kitchen. “Stop guilting me, stop going on and on, just _stop!”_

_“Kyle…”_

“—stop. Just _stop,”_ he seethed, slamming open the fridge. He wasn’t even hungry. He just couldn’t bear to look directly at his mother. “First, I’ve gotta deal with Stan’s _bullshit,_ then Kenny joins in, then it’s fucking _Liane,_ and th—”

_“Liane?”_

Kyle stopped where he stood. Shit. _Shit, shit, shit,_ no, he should have _known_ it was going to get out anyway. He should have _known_ people would find out; he’d told the whole fucking _world_ he was in love with Eric Cartman, during his pathetic screaming match with Stan Marsh. Still, how was he supposed to tell his _mother?_ He wasn’t even sure how to classify himself; Eric was the only guy he’d ever been into. Maybe the only person he’d really ever seen, but coming out and coming out as _Eric Cartman’s boyfriend_ were two entirely different entities that he was being forced to conquer at once.

_“I…”_

“Is _that_ her name?” Sheila asked, with a frown. “Kyle, is that the name of your girlfriend? Is that what you and Stan were fighting over; isn’t he still dating Wendy Testaburger?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. There is no _woman._ There is no _girl,”_ he spoke quietly. It would be too easy to lie. _So_ easy, but he was tired of lying. “I was talking about _Liane._ Liane _Cartman.”_

Sheila let out a defeated sigh. “Well, Kyle, now I’m just... _confused.”_

“Yeah, me too.”

“What are you involved with the _Cartmans,_ for?”

Kyle let out a laboured, twisted laugh, running his hand back over his forehead, ushanka pushed off and over onto the floor. “I’ll give you _one_ guess, Mom. One guess.”

She still looked confused. _“Kyle…”_

“I’ll give you _one_ guess, Mom. Just one,” Kyle laughed harder; tears forming in his eyes. “What do you _think?_ What do you _think_ I’m doing with the Cartmans.”

_“Eric_ Cartman?” Sheila asked, softly. “Kyle, is this about _Eric?”_

“Is _that_ your guess?” he asked, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Is that your _final_ guess?”

_“Kyle…”_ she stood her ground. “You’re _worrying_ me.”

“It’s a good, damn guess,” he nodded, slamming the fridge shut and turning on his heel. “Really, _really,_ vague, but that’s the way we should keep things from now on.”

“Kyle, _please_ come back,” Sheila frowned, chasing after her eldest son. “You really should see a doctor for those wounds; they could be infected…”

“I just wanna go to bed.”

“You’re _crying,”_ she sighed loudly. “Kyle, you _never_ cry, please open up to me!”

Kyle hated tearing up. It was pathetic. He wiped the back of his arm with a glare, heading off in the direction of his bedroom. “I’m going to bed.”

_“Kyle…”_

_“Please!”_ he snapped. _“Please,_ I just need to be left alone. Jesus _Christ.”_

She didn’t follow.

 

* * *

 

They both skipped the first few days of class that week.

Kyle wrote it off as being sick and Sheila believed him. Her son’s melodramatic outburst and vaguely offhanded profession of love for Eric Cartman must have done that. She never questioned him on what he’d meant that evening. She just let him stay home and made Kyle soup and took his temperature and he didn’t have a fever but she never commented on it and all his teachers emailed him the homework he’d missed.

Eric didn’t go to class if Kyle didn’t go to class and his mother left the very next morning after she’d caught him with a boy on the couch, so it didn’t matter anyway. When Sheila ran errands, Kyle briefly snuck out of the house and visited Eric and they watched TV and forgot the rest of the world existed because they were both damn close to wishing that was their reality. They even skipped therapy on Monday. It was too risky and Eric’s bed was so warm, and Kyle’s body still ached and they only yearned for more time together, anyway.

On Thursday morning, Sheila yanked the sheets off of Kyle’s bed and tugged open his blinds. “That’s enough moping around, Kyle. I know you’re not sick anymore.”

“I never _was.”_

“What’s that?”

_“Nothing.”_

“I don’t know about everything that’s going on in your life, right now,” Sheila sighed, taking a seat next to him on the bed. “But I love you, and...and although I’m still confused about this entire... _situation_ and _fight_ you had with Stan, I trust you to make the right choices and when you’re ready to speak to me...or your _father_ —”

_“—HA!”_

“—or, _myself…”_ Sheila cleared her throat. “I’m here. But the foul language and missed curfews need to end.”

_“Mom…”_

“No, I’m serious, Kyle!” Sheila warned. “I understand you’re in the middle of a spat with your friends, and you’re stressed about school, but next time I will not hesitate to ground you!”

_“Fine,”_ Kyle groaned, sitting up in bed. “Fine, I’m getting ready for school.”

“That’s my boy,” she said, reaching down and ruffling his hair. “Come on downstairs for breakfast.”

Kyle rubbed his eyes and crawled out of bed. He’d received a text, not ten minutes ago and even after all of the drama, it was still the only name he looked forward to seeing.

  
**Eric** **♥** ****  
**7:04 AM** **  
** r u going to school today ???

 

The heart wasn’t something Kyle had put there on his own...that was Eric’s own, personal edition, but it wasn’t _untrue..._ Kyle did love him; loved him a whole lot more than he should have.

 

**7:11 AM**  
I’ll pick you up

 

...and something about that felt... _incomplete._

 

**7:12 AM**  
I love you

 

**Eric** **♥**  
**7:15 AM**  
i love you too

 

* * *

 

Kyle knew it for a fact; the truth was out.

He had several Facebook and Instagram messages that he’d left unread from earlier that week, Ike had given him a _very_ weird look at breakfast and of course, it was just all too obvious already that people were going to find out, especially considering he’d professed his _undying_ feelings for Eric Cartman, in front of a group of football players and _Stan._

Stan _fucking_ Marsh.

He’d just _had_ to go and tell Sharon they’d gotten into a fight, hadn’t he?

Kyle was prepared for the looks, the questions, _maybe_ even the _jaunts..._ sure, Kyle was filled with spite and rage and would fight anyone who dared challenge him, _especially_ after the incident with Stan, but he was certain that still wouldn’t protect him from the negative attention. The amazing part was that it didn’t bring him shame, anymore; loving Eric Cartman: it just made him even _more_ spiteful towards the rest of the student body and the rest of the world for that matter, and that was okay.

He and Eric didn’t make a big show out of it, they didn’t walk in holding hands, making out, arm wrapped around his _boyfriend’s_ shoulder...but they did walk in _together,_ and anyone who dared look in the direction of the “happy” couple, received a death glare from Kyle. _Fuck them._ Fuck _them,_ he loved who he loved and anyone who had a problem could consult his _fists_ about it. Stan Marsh already had and maybe Kyle had lost the first round, but he wouldn’t lose a second time.

So, walk down the halls together they did, and when Kyle laced his fingers through Eric’s, a group of junior boys jeered and cackled and Eric remained surprisingly calm and just rolled his eyes in their direction, but _Kyle_ wouldn’t let it slide. He yanked on Eric’s hand and made his direction over to where they stood by the lockers.

_“Kyle,”_ Eric blinked. “What are you doing, Ky—”

“—what the fuck’s so funny?” Kyle snapped, glaring in the direction of their little crowd. “C’mon, what’s so fucking funny?”

One of them nervously looked back at the others, laughing softly. “Well, it’s just, that...I _mean…”_

“Did you _really_ fuck _Cartman?”_

A few others in the hallway snickered and Kyle felt his hands getting hot. He knew Eric got easily stressed from other people’s teasing...and he didn’t like it when people teased his boyfriend. That had once been _his_ job, but Kyle had changed, _long_ since then.

And besides that, he and Eric hadn’t _actually_ had sex, yet. Not that they didn’t _want_ to...really, it was just a matter of finding a good time and place.

“What did you ask me?” Kyle seethed.

“Are _you,_ and _Cartman,_ really _sucking_ each other off behind school, like _everyone_ says you are?”

Kyle’s blood boiled. Who had the _right_ to ask? Who fucking _cared?_ If he was dating a girl, would anyone give a shit? _Then,_ would he be receiving the same, tedious, brain-dead and _irrelevant,_ questioning?

_“Kyl—”_

He moved in closer on the group, a few jumping back.

“Dude, _stop,”_ one of them muttered to his friends. “You saw what he did to _Marsh.”_

“That was _Kyle?”_

“Yeah, but, come on,” he retorted. “He’s sticking his dick in _Cartman.”_

“You wanna _fucking_ repeat that?” Kyle hissed. His hand remained latched to Eric’s and he didn’t — _wouldn’t_ — let go.

The boy’s eyes went wide. _“No thanks.”_

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought,” Kyle narrowed his eyes, throwing his arm over Eric’s shoulder, the two making their way back down the halls. A few people whistled and cheered and Kyle thought it was unnecessary and cheap and stupid, but _whatever._ _Let_ them look on, and comment. Let them say whatever the hell they wanted; he _loved_ Eric Cartman and Eric Cartman loved him and he knew for a fact that most of those people would never _feel_ something that strong for someone else in their entire _lives._ And that was that.

Later that day, Kyle and Eric skipped the lunch crowd scene and opted to eat behind school. If a bunch of fucking losers wanted to think they sucked each other off behind school, well, then, so be it. Kyle would let them believe it. They sat side by side and he bummed a cigarette off of Eric, from the old pack he carried around and was ironically _forbidden_ to smoke, by his boyfriend, Kyle, and Kyle still hated the trashy, smoky, taste, but it calmed his nerves and made his mind a blank slate, for Eric to fill with stupid one-offs and sweet incantations.

And boy, was he ever sweet when he wanted to be.

“What the fuck is _this?”_

Eric’s head was resting up against Kyle’s shoulder; arms clutching at his boyfriend’s chest. Kyle stared up at Kenny, whose hands were stuffed into his pockets, standing above the two and shaking his head.

“What the fuck are you _talking_ about?” Kyle barked.

_“This,”_ Kenny scoffed, pointing at the two of them. “What the fuck is _this?”_

“What are you fucking poor _and_ blind?” Kyle snapped, pulling Eric in closer. “We’re having lunch.”

Kenny let out an exasperated breath. _“Wow._ Holy shit, it’s like neither of you can just be nice fucking people at the same time, hey? You take _turns_ being douchebags. Perfect couple.”

“Fuck off.”

“Why can’t Cartman speak for himself, anymore?” Kenny snorted. “He’s what, just...relying on his big scary _boyfriend_ to _talk_ for him now?”

_“HEY!”_ Eric snapped.

“Don’t even fucking listen to him,” Kyle murmured, wrapping his arm around Eric. “Don’t listen to fucking _anyone,_ they don’t get it.”

“Holy shit, dude, just _look_ at you both!” Kenny laughed. “You’ve cut everyone off, besides each other, you’re eating all alone behind the school, you’re fucking _smoking_ for some reason and Kyle, you won’t even let Cartman _speak_ for himself?”

“I can _so_ speak!”

“He can speak if he _wants_ to!”

“You’re so fucking codependent, it’s pathetic!” Kenny shook his head. “I mean, you were codependent as kids too, but this is fucking insane!”

“Fuck. _Off,”_ Kyle glared. “God, I’m so sick of you guys, just fuck right off, already.”

“I only came to talk to you and I’ve already been shut out.”

“No, you came to berate us,” Kyle narrowed his eyes. “And neither of us are interested, so move the _fuck_ on.”

“Alright, alright, so my approach was off-putting,” Kenny sighed. “But I still came with good intentions. I came to _talk.”_

“So, _talk!”_

_“Fine!”_ Kenny glared. “Stan feels really, _really_ shitty about the fight and he’s... _scared_ to talk to you, but he wants to make up, so can you just make up already?”

“Did you _see_ what _Stan_ did to his _face?”_ Eric scoffed, cupping his hands around Kyle’s jaw. “Just _look_ at this, _Kenny. Look_ what he did to...my _Kyle…”_ his voice drifted off, nearly getting lost in Kyle’s eyes...they were so _disgustingly_ in love, it was _disgusting..._

“Oh, and the _one_ time he has something to say, it’s to protect his fuckin’ _boyfriend._ Big surprise,” Kenny sneered.

“Well, he’s _right._ Just fucking _look_ at me,” Kyle snapped. His wounds were actually healing pretty well, but it didn’t stop him from milking it. “If Stan wants to apologize, he can apologize to my fucked-up face. And he can apologize to _Eric,_ too.”

“Eric? _Eric?_ Did you just call Cartman, _“Eric”?”_ Kenny gasped, with a short laugh. “Holy fuck, you guys are...are, _so_ far gone!”

“Do us both a favour and fuck right off,” Kyle fumed. “We’re getting enough shit from everyone else, just, _god._ Let us have some _alone_ time.”

Kenny shook his head, stepping back with his hands in the air. _Mercy._ “Oh, by all means. By all means, Kyle, ‘cause I give up, for now...you guys can’t see what’s wrong with this picture, well, I won’t bother trying to explain it.”

Eric scoffed, shooting his _own_ best friend a dirty look. “Go away, _Kenny,_ me and _Kyle_ want some fucking _alone_ time.”

Kenny let out on last deep breath, heading off in the opposite direction. “Forget I even tried.”

 

* * *

 

Kyle drove Eric back home after school that day, and he refused to go back to his own place. Refused to see his mother, his father, his brother, _anyone._ He was avoiding everyone; maybe 10% of his reasoning being he simply didn’t want to explain their relationship to anyone...the other 90% purely because he just wanted to spend time with Eric. So, they ate the shitty ramen noodles Eric kept under his bed and watched TV and did just that: avoided the rest of the world.

Around 8 PM, the texts from Kyle’s mother started flooding in. He lied. Told her he was at the library. Really, he was lounging around in Eric’s bed, with his boyfriend’s head on his chest, but he didn’t have to explain that to anyone.

“Hey, _Kyle?”_

He hadn’t been paying attention to Eric...just temporarily, while he was stuck up in his own cloud of thoughts.

“What’s up?”

Kyle was running a few fingers through Eric’s hair...it was still silky, and thick and brown as ever, hanging in soft, long bangs across his forehead.

“Did what they said...did it... _embarrass,_ you?”

_“Who?”_

“Those guys…”

Well, that could have meant more than one thing. More than one person had had questions for Kyle that day and that included every gender on the spectrum. Ironically, the most _pleasant_ comment he’d received was from Nichole Daniels: _“I thought you guys had already dated once back in the fourth grade? Well, congrats on getting back together, again!”._ A year ago...even months ago, that would have made him _furious..._ that time back in elementary school, when Cartman had told everyone he and Kyle were _dating..._ maybe it’d just been prophetic…

“Those fucking losers in the hallway?”

“Well... _yeah…”_ Eric shrugged.

_“No,”_ Kyle scoffed, wrapping his arm further around Eric. “I’m not embarrassed of you.”

“Well, really, I meant about…” Eric cleared his throat, looking up into Kyle’s eyes. “The stuff about, us... _fucking.”_

_“Oh,”_ Kyle raised a brow. “No, Eric...that doesn’t _embarrass_ me.”

“Really... _babe?”_ he blinked. “Because you _still_ haven’t fucked me, yet, _Kyle.”_

Now, _that_ caught him off-guard. He knew Eric _wanted_ him, he was just so... _explicit_ about it…

“Oh, I will. You can bet on that,” Kyle snapped and Eric’s eyes went huge. “But not tonight, ‘cause my mom’s already wondering where I am and if she catches us…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eric nodded. “God, _fuck_ parents.”

“Yeah...yeah, believe me, I know,” Kyle muttered. He hadn’t talked to his own father in over a week and that was just fine with him. “Whatever, Eric, listen, I love you...and I promise the lack of sex is no reflection of how I feel for you, it’s just... _hard_ to find the right place and time.”

“I know,” Eric sighed lazily, clutching onto Kyle’s chest. “You just make it too hard to keep waiting…”

Kyle kissed his head, wrapping his arms further around his sleepy boyfriend. He let out a deep breath; people’s public opinions of them, and their comments and all the fighting sucked, but soft moments like this made it all worthwhile.

“I know…” he agreed. “But we’ll find the time.”

They sat for a while longer before Sheila texted Kyle again and he decidedly had to leave. But even physically away from Eric, he never left his mind.

 

* * *

 

Kyle had intended to go straight to bed that night.

But the door to his dad’s office was open and he had walked right by at just the right moment and there was that damned creaky floorboard, right outside his door and so Gerald heard him sneaking by.

Just _great._

_“—Kyle?_ Could you come _here,_ please?”

Kyle winced. That was _never_ a good sign.

He slipped into the office, his father staring back at him.

“So, that graffiti on my car…” Gerald scoffed. “You have any idea where it came from?”

Kyle shrugged. He had _no_ idea. He’d desperately tried getting rid of it after it had happened but clearly hadn’t done a good job. “Nope.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time at the Cartmans’ lately, hmm?” he narrowed his eyes.

Kyle refused to get angry. He refused to in any way give himself up; he was unafraid to love Eric now, but his father was a terrible man all-in-all and he wanted to keep Eric away from his toxicity. Kyle wanted his father to stay away from anything or _anyone_ that made him happy; as long as he could do so, he’d keep Eric out of the mix.

“What _about_ it?”

“You know what a sleazy family that is, Kyle,” Gerald scoffed. “You really think you’re going to make it into Columbia, wasting your time with _trailer trash?”_

“Spit it out, Dad,” Kyle snapped. “You think _Cartman_ did that?”

He knew he’d cleaned enough up of the graffiti to make its message illegible, but he still worried.

“I didn’t say that, Kyle. _You_ did.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Awful protective of Eric Cartman, aren’t you, _Kyle?”_ Gerald laughed, briskly. “There any reason for that?”

Kyle shook his head. Oh, he had plenty of reasons...the first being, the way Eric’s eyes twinkled when he was happy, the second being how _soft_ he could be, when they were all alone, the third being the way he _kissed…_

“Nope.”

_“Interesting…”_ Gerald shrugged. “Goodnight, _Kyle.”_

If he knew anything about their relationship, fuck him, if he _didn’t_ know anything, fuck him anyway. Fuck Gerald Broflovski for breathing; Kyle couldn’t be bothered to deal with his ignorance and his passive-aggressive behaviour. He shot his father a look, then turned on his heel and headed for the door.

_“Goodnight.”_

It wasn’t Kyle Broflovski’s choice to love Eric Cartman, but it _was_ his choice to act on it so _freely_ now and to cut out the parts of his life that interrupted that.

His dad just happened to be one of those parts.

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys!! i'm really sorry if some of the spacing in this story is weird lol, i write and format on google docs, and then post as rich text, but ig ao3 doesn't like it and adds extra spaces between some italicized words (and as you can tell, i love italics, so you see my problem). i'm trying to fix it, but i'm sorry about that!! pls bear with me (: also I apologize if I've made grammatical errors I didn't pick up on and correct; I use grammarly as an editor but sometimes it doesn't get all of them and I beta myself lol...plus, I stay up very late to write, so my tired brain doesn't always notice all my mistakes. sorry again


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